


The White Room

by Heizpilz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not graphycally, Talk about Erica and Boyd, mention of kate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heizpilz/pseuds/Heizpilz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the grand old tradition of his life, Derek gets kidnapped and tortured. He soon realizes that more is at stake than his life and needs to find a way to endure. Meanwhile Stiles is starting to wonder where Derek is and why he even cares. Scott is not much help and Stiles finds his own answers.</p><p>Set after Season Two. Canon-compliant up to that point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

**Week 1 – Derek**

  
At first, the clean, white walls make a pleasant change. Usually when he gets kidnapped, he ends up in the dank and dark places: basements, cellars, caves, so it’s almost nice to wake up in a well-lit room. No chains either, although he’s shirtless so some things never change. The floor he’s lying on is made of metal and very cold if he moves even an inch or so. He must have lain here for quite a while if his body heat managed to warm the floor under him.

The last thing he remembers is being at the old house - which isn’t really his house anymore - where he was painting over the sign the alpha pack left on his door because that seriously offended him. There was a group of what he assumed to be hunters at first, five in all. They shot him full of tranquilizer darts, which lost their effect as quickly as he picked them from his body like annoying insects. So _not_ hunters then. Finally they used tazers long enough for him to pass out. He’s so damned tired of getting electrocuted all the time.

He’s alone in the room, so he stays where he is for the moment, assessing his prison. The first thing he notices besides the relentless white is that, other than an almost inaudible humming from above, there’s no noise. He can hear his heartbeat and breathing but nothing from outside the room. Either there’s no one there or – more likely – the room is soundproof. The thought makes him uneasy. If he can’t rely on his senses, then how is he supposed to defend himself?

It does look like some kind of ‘facility’. The white walls, ceiling and floor have ‘institution’ written all over them. The metal floor is covered in a glossy paint: a single smooth surface like it’s been poured on. Above him is a milky plastic sheet with no discernible light source as if the whole ceiling is shining down on him. There aren’t any windows, just a door fitted so tightly into its surrounding that it’s difficult to make out. It’s made of metal, painted with the same substance as the floor.

Eventually Derek gets to his feet with the fluidity he’s accustomed to. He stretches a little to work out all the kinks in his muscles, then approaches the door. The floor is very chilly under his bare feet, but he ignores it for now. The cold won’t kill him. If need be, he’ll shift to be more comfortable. He runs his fingers along the seal of the door, then extends the claw nail on his index finger to repeat the motion. There’s a slight screeching sound as the nail scratches against the metal, but to cause any damage he would have to put some real effort into it and it wouldn’t be quiet. He touches the wall, which feels like some kind of hard rubber. Did someone have him committed? This seems very much like a padded cell.

He vows to kill whoever did this to him and just for a few seconds there’s the stray thought of Stiles, who would find this hilarious, but he clamps down on that notion immediately. Despite his incomprehensible humor this would be too far beyond the pale even for Stiles to joke about and Derek doesn’t have time for distractions.

“Stay three feet away from the door and the right wall at all times!” The voice is soft and calm. It’s the voice of a man used to being obeyed.

Derek can’t work out where it originates, just that it’s coming from above, like the light and the very faint air current. When he looks up, he can detect a half-inch gap above the walls, where he suspects there are openings for vents, speakers and maybe even cameras. From here it just looks like a small, dark strip between the rubber of the walls and the plastic of the ceiling and in a room devoid of furniture there’s no way to reach it.

A sudden jolt of electricity from the floor lifts him up by an inch or so. Pain shoots through him, causing all his muscles to lock initially, his nerves searing and then his legs giving way under him as his muscles spasm uncontrollably. He ends up on his back, shoulders sliding along the floor as he tries to somehow get his bare back away from the source of the excruciating pain. It ends as suddenly as it began. Exhausted, he stays on the ground, breathing heavily, his eyes stinging with tears caused by a physical response rather than anger or despair. And yes, he really fucking hates getting electrocuted.

“I don’t like having to repeat myself,” the voice says, the tone a hint disappointed.

When Derek lifts his head, he realizes that his writhing on the floor has moved him the required three feet away from the door. He’s complied without meaning to, although, for the record, he has no intention of disobeying in any way, not when the floor is rigged to zap him with enough voltage to incapacitate him.

“What do you want from me? Who are you?”

“I want you to behave like a human being, Derek.”

Derek grits his teeth. He will not enter into a conversation with a faceless voice. So he just tries to relax a little and get his strength back. Let them think he’s beaten. At some stage, they will have to feed him and then they’ll find out just how much strength he still has.  


 

 

He has no idea how much time passes. Just once, he tries to walk over to the wall on the right side of the room but is jolted as soon as he gets too close. Not only that, but the surge doesn’t stop until he passes out. He knows he’s been screaming in pain by the way his throat hurts as much as every other part of his body when he comes to. His healing powers soon take care of that, but he isn’t in any great hurry to repeat the experience.

Sitting in the far left corner, where the rubber walls reflect his body heat to the best – albeit still minimal – advantage, he studies the right wall. There’s nothing distinguishing it from the other walls in the room. He can’t work out why he’s not allowed to go near it. It makes no sense.

When the door opens, Derek is up and halfway across the room, beginning to wolf out as he moves, before he’s hit by electricity again. His shift reverts immediately, but he gets a glimpse of a man in a white coat, carrying a tray. Then he’s on the floor again, thrashing in pain until he loses consciousness. Through it all, the man just stands there, immobile, watching him dispassionately. He’s gone when Derek wakes up again and so is the tray.

The next time he tries from a little closer. Instead of sitting in the corner, he waits as close to the door as he dares. But the voice simply tells him to move back and when he doesn’t comply quickly enough, he ends up screaming in agony again.

He realizes that the situation won’t be improved by his attempts to get the upper hand through speed and brute force. For one thing, the strain on his body is taking its toll. Electricity is one of the few things that work effectively on werewolves and is hard to shake off after repeated or prolonged exposure. For another, he’s getting hungry. He can last a lot longer than humans without food, but eventually it will weaken him severely, even kill him.

So he waits back in the corner. How long has it been? A day? Two? His stomach tells him it’s nearer three, but with the constant lighting it’s difficult to estimate. His eyes are starting to sting, too, from the continuous brightness. He has slept very little. Logic dictates that he’s being watched but he can’t be sure because it’s done through cameras, not people and it sets him on edge. The wolf inside him is clamoring for release. Luckily it was the full moon two nights before he was captured and he had a good run in the woods. Still, it’s not that long ago, so his wolf is still far from calm.

Eventually the door opens and the man appears again, tray in hand. Derek can smell food and his stomach clenches painfully. He gets up slowly and calculates how many steps into the room he needs the guy to take so he can reach him before he can retreat through the door again. But prudence prevails. He stands and watches quietly.  
  
“I’ve brought you your food, Derek.” It’s the same voice that he heard over the speakers. “What do you say?”

Derek bristles at that. He’s not a child and won’t be treated like he needs educating. Insisting on manners from the man you’ve abducted just adds insult to injury. “Who are you?” he spits out. “What do you want?” Wrong thing to say, obviously, because the electric shock throws him back onto the floor until he falls unconscious. He wakes up alone.

By the end of the week, Derek has learned to obey the rules. He doesn’t touch the right wall or the door. He stays in his corner when the man enters the room and says ‘thank you’ when he’s given a tray of food. He knows scarcely more about what he’s doing here or who the man is than he did on his first day, but he’s grateful to have food – always sandwiches, impossible to say if it’s breakfast, lunch or dinner – and water and to be allowed through the door into the anteroom to use the toilet. Apart from the amenities, the anteroom looks exactly like his cell. Derek has no doubt that the floor here is rigged the same way.

The man has annoyingly squeaky shoes, which only makes sense. Rubber soles, designed to insulate him from the current so he can stand and watch Derek suffer without being affected. He has introduced himself as Professor Callahan and says he works in government research. While it doesn’t really answer any questions, it tells Derek that he must never wolf out while he’s here. The last thing he needs is to alert _the government_ to the fact that werewolves exist. It would spell the end for his kind, not to mention that they would lock the door and throw away the key.  
  
  
  


**Week 1 – Stiles**

Stiles walks into the Hale house without any hesitation. He’s been here so many times since the start of the summer vacation that he feels right at home. Well, however much you can feel at home in a place that has large portions of its walls missing and no proper roof. He drops his laptop on the kitchen table, which disconcertingly has a hole punched through it on the left-hand side. But it’s better than sitting on the mangy couch in what used to be the living room. At least the one remaining kitchen chair is pretty solid.

“Hey, wolfman, I’m here,” he calls out. He knows Derek's home because the Camaro is parked out front. He would prefer to meet somewhere else, but on the other hand this is out of the way enough for his purposes. He doesn’t want to advertise what he’s doing to certain individuals, mainly Scott and his father. It’s always best to avoid complications and he promised Derek and Isaac to keep this to himself.

“Of course, you already know that,” he mutters, while he boots up his computer. “Don’t know why I bother telling you. Except that it’s just good manners. Do you guys even have manners? You certainly don’t, neither has your freaky uncle. Scott does, but does he count? He hasn’t been a werewolf that long.”

“Don’t you ever shut up even when you’re by yourself?” a voice asks from behind him.

Stiles lets out a surprised and rather embarrassing yelp and jumps up to round the table so it’s placed between him and Peter Hale, who’s smiling that deceptively mild smile that he has as he steps out of the shadows. “Where’s Derek?” he asks, a little breathless with the jolt of fear he experienced.

“I honestly don’t know. I’m looking for him myself. What are you doing here?”

“Derek's expecting me,” Stiles says in a rush, which is true and _fuck_ does he hope that Derek remembered that and is in the vicinity.

“Interesting. Expecting you for what?”

“Research. We’re doing research. Searching for stuff. On the internet.”

“Really?” Peter smiles again, stepping closer and chuckling outright when Stiles retreats to keep the table between them.

Stiles knows he’s no match for Peter… whom he doesn’t trust… and fears more than anyone. After all, he did help setting him alight and getting him killed. By Derek. Who is conspicuous by his absence. “Derek!” he calls out, louder this time, his voice rising a little with traces of panic. “Are you here?”

There’s no answer. Oh God, what if Peter killed him? And now Stiles is all alone out here with a crazy killer, while no one knows where he is because he designed it that way.

“He’s not,” Peter says. “Not even his dead body. I checked.”

“Dead body?” Stiles squeaks. “Who said anything about dead bodies? Why would you even say that? Nobody needs to mention dead bodies here. Not at all. Let’s not even think about that. Especially not mine. I like my body very much alive.”

“Relax, Stiles. I’m not after your body. Dead or otherwise.”

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s good.” He pauses. “And may I just say, _eewww_.”

Peter chuckles again. “Are you reserving that for my nephew? I thought you had better taste. Lydia’s quite the babe.”

Stiles has retreated from the slowly prowling werewolf to the place where he originally started and snatches up his laptop, snapping it shut while picking up his rucksack with the other hand. Then he walks backwards to the door. “If you see Derek, tell him I was here. And to call me.”

He speed-walks from the house to his jeep, knowing full well that he has no chance of escape if Peter doesn’t want him to. When he’s starting the engine, he sees Peter on the veranda with his arms folded, giving him a mocking smile. Damn psycho! Stiles drives in reverse until he feels safe enough to turn the car and even then he keeps an eye on Peter in his rearview mirror. He takes a deep calming breath when he reaches the road at the end of the forest track and relative safety.

During the afternoon and the evening, he tries calling Derek several times. It’s not like Derek to miss a meeting. He’s been worrying about the alpha pack for a while now, especially since Erica and Boyd left. Trying to track them with Isaac has proven fruitless and time-consuming. Stiles has been assisting them by organizing search grids and researching unusual occurrences that are too insignificant to make it into the news but show up on certain blogs.

He isn’t quite sure why he’s helping them. A large part of it is that he somehow feels guilty over what happened at the warehouse with Gerard. Once Stiles was over Lydia’s love declaration to Jackson, after the guy literally turned into a monster in front of her eyes, he started looking at what had happened with the other players in the scene. He was hurt that Scott hadn’t told him his plan and had instead turned to _my-lips-are-sealed-for-the-sheer-hell-of-it_ Deaton. He’s _still_ hurt about that. And he’s somewhat angry, too, because Scott’s plan sucked.

But what bugs him the most is that what Scott did to Derek was cruel. However much of an asshole Derek’s been at times, he didn’t deserve that. And all for what? To impress Allison? On the off-chance that Scott might be able to get her back? Nobody is worth mistreating other people. Especially not the girl who stuck knives into Isaac without remorse. Nor did it work out in the end. Scott’s still spending his summer pining for Allison. To be honest, Stiles is heartily sick of it. Mainly because it reminds him that Scott did something that Stiles didn’t think him capable of and can’t condone.

There’s no reply to his calls or the messages that he leaves. Stiles plays _Call of Duty_ for five hours before he goes to bed.  


 

 

The next day he’s out at the Hale house again. He’s more cautious today, even though he knows that if Peter wants to sneak up on him, he will. He calls out several times, but there’s no one around. Good thing the place has a reputation in town for being haunted, otherwise the Camaro would be stripped down to its hull by now or crashed by some juvenile delinquents during a joyride. After looking over the whole house and nearly falling through the floor in one of the bedrooms upstairs, he leaves without any answers. He’s not worried. Derek probably just found a trail and is caught up in following it. If he’s out in the wild somewhere, he won’t have a chance to recharge his phone if it’s run out of batteries. Informing Stiles of his whereabouts is hardly at the top of his list of priorities, if it even makes the list.

Still, he tries calling Derek every day – Isaac, too – with no result. He wants to talk to Scott about it but doesn’t know how the broach the subject. Derek remains a sore point between them. Scott knows that Stiles doesn’t approve of what he did, maybe he even feels a little guilty about it by now, but they just end up doing bro stuff and not talking about it. Nor do they talk about Allison, who’s spending the summer away from Beacon Hills. If Stiles were the type of guy who can switch his brain off, he could almost pretend this was last year, before he had that harebrained idea to go into the woods and look for half a body.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
  
**Week 2 – Derek**

  
He’s incredibly tired. When he sleeps, he does so sitting up, leaning against the two rubber walls that form the left-hand corner. The walls are warmer than the floor, from where the icy cold is starting to seep into his bones. But most of all, the floor is his enemy. He doesn’t trust it enough to lie down, as if minimizing contact with it could save him from the pain.

In the beginning, he did exercises to keep himself busy. Push-ups and sit-ups in turn, enough to make him lose count and make his muscles tremble. His captors obviously didn’t mind, because no punishment followed. But by now he’s far too tired for that.

He doesn’t understand what he’s doing here. Other than conditioning his behavior, nobody is paying any attention to him. The professor never asks him any questions. By now, Derek might even be willing to answer some of them just to have some variety in his day. He never knew how much boredom can wear you down. There’s nothing to do except wait for the next shock. There‘s always something his captors don’t like.

Once, when he’s just dozing in the corner, the electric current first shocks him out of his stupor, then has him squirming on the floor.

“I told you to stay away from the left wall,” the voice says.

Derek can’t help himself. “You said right!” he shouts angrily and is predictably rewarded with more shock treatment until he manages to roll away from the left side of the room. He doesn’t veer too far to the right either because he distinctly remembers he isn’t supposed to. It seems more frustrating than anything that’s happened so far, more than getting kidnapped, more than getting punished for any and all infractions of the rules. He’s _complying_ and _still_ gets hurt. How can he abide by the rules if they get changed around arbitrarily? And the worst of it is that he’s not entirely sure that it _wasn’t_ the left wall all the time. What if he’s just confused? What if the voice said _left_ from the beginning and he’s remembering it wrong? It’s possible, isn’t it? He hasn’t slept much and the fatigue and the pain are wearing him down.

He wonders if anyone in Beacon Hills has noticed that he’s gone yet. And if they have, will they even care? Isaac went off to find Erica and Boyd. There was a hint that the alpha pack was out of state, but it was a long shot and involved a long trek, so Derek let him go. He really hopes that Isaac didn’t actually find the alphas because without Derek's help he will be completely out of his depth. If Derek thought there was a chance of it actually panning out, he would never have let Isaac go alone.

As things stand, Isaac will most likely have returned empty-handed by now. But for the few days he was chasing shadows, he was out of harm’s way and Derek could try to find the alphas himself. At least that was the idea. Isaac means well but he’s untested and untrained. Without Erica and Boyd there’s not much of a pack and any confrontation is highly dangerous. Best to keep Isaac safe as much as possible.

So he met with Stiles every day to narrow down the search somehow. Stiles is good at these things. Unexpectedly organized for a hyperactive spaz. It’s often difficult to follow his thought processes but once they crystallize, his ideas make a surprising amount of sense, if they don’t outright border on genius.

Stiles also doesn’t stop what he’s doing until he passes out from sheer exhaustion, which to Derek is the complete opposite of what he would have expected from someone supposedly having an attention _deficit_. But Stiles explained that he can focus well enough, just not usually on the things he’s supposed to focus on. Apparently he once wrote an essay on the history of circumcision – in Economics. Derek remembers finding that highly amusing until he became aware that Stiles was looking at him speculatively. Under the circumstances, it didn’t take a genius to work out what the brat was wondering about and ended with Stiles being bright red with embarrassment and stammering some long-winded distraction that probably made as little sense to him as it did to Derek. More from habit than anything else, Derek threatened to rip his throat out.

Now he wonders if Stiles has noticed that he’s gone. They were supposed to meet the day after he was captured. Did Stiles go out to the house? Did he wait for him? How long? Is he worried where Derek might be? Is he looking for him?

One of the things about having no family is having no back-up. If he still had them, they would be searching for him by now. The pack that he created is no substitute. Two of them ran off at the earliest opportunity and Isaac is surely only staying with him because he has nowhere else to go. Derek should have found him a better pack, one where he’d be secure and cared for. But when was he supposed to do that? With the kanima and the threat of the alpha pack, there was no time to waste. Packs aren’t meant to be like that, all training and no proper bonding. He was trying to create a pack in a hurry and all he managed to do is endanger three teenagers. He is the worst alpha ever to exist. His mother would be ashamed of him. And in the end, he’s still alone.

His thoughts go back to Stiles, who’s been helping him for no apparent reason. And not for the first time either. Up to now, Derek has assumed that Stiles’s assistance, when it was forthcoming, was purely selfish because he needed Derek to survive certain dangers or because he wanted to secure Derek’s help for Scott. But recently he’s been just there, helping without any obvious payback. Maybe Stiles _is_ looking for him.

Derek isn’t beaten yet. He’s learned to comply but only because he’s avoiding punishment. He can withstand a lot of pain and injury, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. If he can stop it from happening, he will. At the moment he’s just biding his time until his captors are lulled into a false sense of security. He needs to get out of this room to assess his situation properly. The problem is that he can’t use his natural abilities because he can’t risk getting caught on camera or even just being witnessed by some scientist. And that means he can’t really use anger as his anchor any longer. It pushes him too close to the edge under the circumstances. He needs to find another way.

He jumps up when the ‘professor’ enters the room with the usual suddenness. The soundproofing is really disorienting him. This time there’s no tray. Derek is convinced that the periods between meals are deliberately random to make it impossible for him to get a proper sense of the passage of time. Or he may just be paranoid. As the food is so sparse, he’s constantly hungry, so it’s impossible to tell by his body’s reaction how much time passes.

“We’d like to run some tests, Derek,” Callahan says in that soft voice that he likes to use. “Let’s start with some blood. Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. It’s up to you.”

Derek huffs and wordlessly stretches out his arm, fist clenched in the common gesture for giving blood. His mother told him that, apart from their enhanced powers, werewolf physiology is no different from human. They won’t find anything in his blood.

Callahan smiles and beckons a man from the anteroom, who enters his cell pushing a small cart with the required paraphernalia. For a few moments, Derek assesses if attacking him would do any good, but the man displays so much fear that he obviously believes himself expendable. So taking him hostage probably won’t give Derek any leverage whereas compliance may bring him one step closer to getting out of here.

The man sets the needle with steady hands despite reeking of terror. Derek watches him fill the first three vials before his body pushes out the needle and closes the pinprick hole. Damn! He didn’t think of that.

“Woah,” the man says in surprise, shooting a quick worried look at Derek's face.

“What is it?” Callahan asks apprehensively.

“I dislodged the needle by accident,” Derek lies. “Sorry about that.”

“The needle got pushed out by itself and the puncture wound is completely healed,” the man next to him says, rubbing his thumb over Derek's skin to make sure. Derek has to force himself not to rip it off.

“Really?” Callahan sounds eager now and even moves a step forward before stopping himself. “Do it again.”

The man jabs the needle into Derek's arm without even attempting to find a vein. It hurts, but Derek holds still. He can’t stop his healing powers, so the needle is displaced soon enough. He clenches his jaw in frustration. Never before did he have reason to wish that he wouldn’t heal.

“My, my, what an interesting specimen you are,” Callahan says, gesturing the other man to leave, which he does hurriedly and with obvious relief. Callahan stares at Derek for a little while longer before leaving and shutting the door.

After pacing for a few minutes, Derek forces himself to stand still. Appearing to be nervous will only make the situation worse. He looks up when Callahan reappears, this time with another man, one of the guys who captured Derek. Without any hesitation the man shoots Derek in the leg with a hand gun.

There’s hot, searing pain and Derek finds himself sitting on the floor with his hands pressed against the wound in his thigh. Damn, that hurts. He remembers that he hates getting shot as much as he hates getting electrocuted. The only good news about this is that they’re using ordinary bullets. Callahan stands unperturbed in the doorway and watches him until the bullet leaves his body and drops onto the metal floor with an ominous clink.  


 

  
   
**Week Two – Stiles**

“Derek will know,” Scott says confidently.

Stiles frowns incredulously. Is he serious? He looks back at Scott’s upper arm where the tattoo disappeared within seconds after it took what seemed like hours to apply. It’s a little embarrassing that he let on how much he hated it. He was all set to do his best friend duty, but it really was damned ugly. Although that little slip of the tongue was nowhere near as humiliating as fainting in the tattoo parlor. It’s not that he faints at the sight of blood – he would have spent the better part of the last year passed out if that were the case – but he doesn’t like pain. Especially when other people are suffering it.

Come to think of it, Scott’s right, Derek does have a tattoo and if werewolf healing powers kick in as soon as tattoos are applied, then the question is how did Derek get his? Maybe werewolf bodies have good taste and only reject the ugly ones because Derek's tattoo sure is beautiful – unlike having two rings around your biceps. What is that even supposed to mean? But the bro code prevents him from saying anything out loud.

He drives them out to the Hale house although he doesn’t expect Derek to be there. Or rather _because_ he doesn’t expect him to be there. How Scott has the gall to look Derek in the eye, never mind asking for help, after what he did is beyond him. The Camaro is still parked out front but there’s no one home. Nobody’s been home for well over a week now. Scott briefly inspects the house, then stops by the front door. Derek must have painted it recently. Stiles noticed the new color the day he met Peter here. He’s been out five times since Derek's disappeared and visited the old rail depot as well, but both places remain abandoned.

Without hesitation, Scott starts scraping his claws over the door, removing the paint and revealing the alpha sign.

“Man, what are you doing? Derek's gonna kill you.” Well, Stiles certainly would if Scott did that to _his_ property.

“What’s this?” Scott asks unperturbed.

Stiles could feign ignorance but that’s really not in his nature. “It’s the sign of an alpha pack. A warning. Derek thinks they’ll be coming to Beacon Hills.”

“And why hasn’t anybody told me?”

Stiles snorts. “Because you’re not Derek's alpha? Or mine.”

“You and Derek have secrets from me?”

“You and Deaton have secrets from _me_? And Derek?”

Scott softens immediately. “I did what I had to do. You know that, right?”

Despite his best efforts, Stiles feels upset all over again. He really thought he’d gotten a handle on this. “Actually from where I was standing, it looked like you were colluding with Deaton against Gerard, which would be okay. But also against Derek and that’s less okay. In fact it’s not okay at all. Because it was all about Allison. I know she’s the love of your life, bro, but that really doesn’t mean you can do whatever the hell you want just to impress her. Derek could have gotten killed that night. And Isaac. That’s not okay. I’m not saying I would have cried if Gerard and Jackson had kicked the bucket, but really, man, you need to get your priorities sorted out.”

Scott has the decency to look chagrinned and Stiles feels bad for what he said. He and Scott have never been at odds for more than a day before, not even when Scott kissed Lydia. But if they don’t reach a consensus on this, it will always be between them, so it needs to be said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Scott seems genuinely contrite. “I promise I won’t keep you out of the loop again.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t because your plans suck and mine are the best.”

“Like when you said we should see if we can float on a deckchair with helium balloons tied to it and your dad had to shoot down the balloons one by one with an air rifle so that we could get back down to earth without breaking our necks?”

“Hey, it was _awesome_ ,” Stiles insists. Okay, scary, too, on account of both of them being eight years old at the time, but really awesome.

“I was afraid of heights,” Scott points out exasperatedly.

Stiles just grins and throws an arm over his shoulder to lead him back to the jeep.

 

  
  
“We should look for Derek,” Stiles says the next day when they’re playing in Scott’s room.

“I thought you already did.” Scott doesn’t look up from the screen.

“I looked in the places where he should be. Which are obviously _not_ the places where he _is_. So I think we should look in the places where you wouldn’t expect him to be. You know, forest caves, cages… the _Argent’s basement_.”

“That was _one_ time,” Scott flares up. “You always make it sound like they’re making a habit of it.”

“Well, let me see. Kate killed the Hale family. Then she imprisoned Derek. Gerard imprisoned Erica and Boyd. Victoria tried to kill you and Derek. Which I’d like to point out you _still_ haven’t told Allison. Allison stuck knives into Isaac. So if Derek's been kidnapped, who in Beacon Hills would make a likely suspect?”

“Allison was under the influence of Gerard. It’s not fair to hold that against her.”

“Everybody should be held to account for their actions. And everybody is. Ask my dad.”

“Then why don’t you ask your dad to help you find Derek?”

“I would if I thought he’d been _arrested_.”

They keep on playing in silence. Stiles can’t understand what’s going on recently. Scott has been pulling away ever since he met Allison and that was okay somehow with her being his first girlfriend and all. But Stiles is frustrated and disappointed that Scott is more focused on other people now, not just Allison but Deaton, too. He feels terrible about being such a shitty friend. But he can’t stand Deaton, who knows way more than he’s divulging, and Allison has shown a side of herself that he really can’t just disregard. He’s willing to see how she behaves after the summer, because he himself did some pretty awful things when he was hurting after his mother died. But he’s nowhere near as quick as Scott to overlook her behavior.

They’re all a little raw after what happened. Jackson has been shipped off to London by his parents, which, as far as Stiles is concerned, is no great loss. But Lydia is mourning his absence and hasn’t been seen for weeks. Stiles isn’t entirely sure if they’re all friends now but probably not. Allison is in France or so Scott thinks. Isaac is off to find Erica and Boyd somewhere in Nevada. And Derek has disappeared.

So as usual it’s just him and Scott passing the time. That’s never been a problem before, on the contrary, it was always the most fun. Not anymore. Scott remains upset about his break-up with Allison, so he’s despondent a lot. And Stiles is frustrated about missing Scott when he’s right here. He keeps telling himself that he just needs to grow up a bit and learn to deal with the fact that he and Scott will have other relationships as they go on. Maybe that’s all he needs, a relationship of his own.

“I think we should look for Derek,” he insists stubbornly.

Scott just sighs.  


 

  
With the days passing way too fast, as they have a tendency to do in the week before the start of school, Stiles is getting more and more anxious. He’s out at the Hale house and the train depot twice a day now. He has looked around the immediate vicinity in the forest, but he’s no tracker. And after the glorious thunderstorm they had the other day, he doubts that Scott could do something either, even if he could be persuaded to give it a try.

On one of his searches through the house, he comes across half a tin of paint, so the next day he brings some old clothes and repaints the front door. There doesn’t seem to be much point to it, what with the rest of the building practically falling down around it. But there must have been a reason why Derek wanted to cover the alpha sign and Stiles would hate for him to come home and find his work gone to ruin. It doesn’t take long anyway.

Then he sits on the porch for a bit, wiping his paint-splotched hands on an old rag he found and trying to enjoy the last rays of sunshine of the day. “Alright,” he says into the air. “You can come home now.”  
  


 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

**Week Three – Derek**

When they’re finally letting him out of the white room, there’s a high price to pay. Callahan comes into the room and slides something across the floor to him. Having learned that nothing good ever happens in this place, Derek picks it up warily and recognizes it immediately for what it is: a collar. It’s made of metal and has a small snap fastening. He weighs it in his hand for a while, which Callahan observes without any emotion. Derek knows what it means. They’re planning to take him out of here and want to make sure he behaves, so they’re opting for portable electrocution. It will get him what he’s been waiting for but… he just… _can’t_.

He throws the collar back on the floor, making it slide until it hits the wall. “No.” It’s a step too far. He’s been complying, however grudgingly, with everything Callahan asked so far, but he won’t do anything so humiliating as putting a collar around his own neck.

Callahan tsks a few times. “You disappoint me, Derek. I thought you understood that I’m only doing what I have to do. Why are you making me do things I really don’t want to do?” He sounds genuinely upset.

“Bite me,” Derek growls, knowing full well what will follow. In view of the inevitability of his punishment, he revels in the opportunity to show his defiance for once. It makes up for ending up squirming in pain.

When he wakes up, he’s alone again. He can feel the collar around his neck and breathes deeply to calm himself. Anger won’t do any good. It was stupid of him. He knew he couldn’t win this fight and yet somehow he couldn’t degrade himself that much. For a few minutes longer, he keeps his eyes closed. How Stiles would laugh if he could see him now. Derek can practically hear the dog jokes in his head. Or maybe Stiles wouldn’t find this funny at all. He has a tendency to wade in when he sees injustice.

Derek concentrates on Stiles for a few moments longer because it delays having to come back to reality. Recently Stiles has been making tentative overtures of friendship. Derek isn’t quite sure what to make of it. He’s been suspicious about it because it feels like Stiles is feeling guilty about something, but for the life of him Derek can’t work out why. If it was Scott, it would make sense, because he can vividly remember being on his knees with Scott forcing him to bite Gerard.

So if Scott were to come to the house and offer his help, he would understand. Derek's still waiting for Scott to get a clue about being a werewolf and how important pack is. But it’s not Scott, it’s Stiles. Stiles, who does his research while at the same time lobbing sarcastic remarks at Derek, which are nothing short of thinly veiled insults. Derek can cope with that. It’s strangely familiar. His family was always big on sarcasm. It was okay having Stiles around while Isaac was away. Better than okay even because he isn’t Stiles’s alpha so there’s no awkwardness and certainly no deference. Derek doesn’t feel the same responsibility weighing him down as he feels with his betas.

Pushing Stiles from his mind is surprisingly difficult. The idea of him is as tenacious as he is in real life. It doesn’t help that Derek is somewhat pinning his hope on Stiles, much as he tries not to. Since the fire and even more so since Laura’s death, he’s had to be self-reliant. If he can’t rely on himself, then who can he rely on? Not his pack, not yet. They need him more than he does them. Not Peter, who‘d let him die without any qualms and probably bring popcorn to watch. Not Scott, who should be a natural ally but stupidly prefers to be an omega.

That leaves only Stiles, who gives up his own time to help Derek and Isaac – neither of whom he particularly likes – to find Erica and Boyd – neither of whom he knows particularly well. Derek remembers Erica talking to Isaac one night about what a huge crush she used to have on Stiles and how childish that seems to her in retrospect. Derek isn’t so sure about that now. Maybe Erica just saw things no one else noticed. She did with Boyd, too. But does that mean that Stiles is looking for him? Probably not. And even if he does, what are the chances that he’ll find him?

 

 

It takes two days until he sees Callahan again, although Derek knows he’s there. He can’t really not know because the point of giving him a collar seems to have been to stop him from sleeping. Every time he dozes off a little, he’s jolted with electricity from around his neck. It’s different than it was when it came from the floor, more immediate. His head feels like it’s going to explode every time, even though the charge isn’t high enough to make him lose consciousness. He sometimes wishes it were. It would give him some much needed rest.

He’s tired and hungry beyond belief when Callahan finally opens the door.

“Come.”

Derek staggers to his feet and into the anteroom. He has long since stopped minding Callahan watching him piss and is just relieved that he can. The bare shower head in the corner seems to be mocking him with unattainable luxury. He had to get used to his own stench days ago. Or it may have been weeks because he really has no idea how long he’s been here.

Beyond the anteroom is a white corridor with a set of doors on each side as well as one on either end, making Derek wonder if there are more people incarcerated here. They could be screaming their heads off in the sound-proof cells and he would never be able to hear them. Callahan is standing well away from him, holding the trigger for his collar in plain sight like a warning. It takes Derek several moments to work out that this means that the floor out here isn’t rigged with electricity. By that time they’ve walked to a room a few doors down.

There’s a table with two chairs on opposite sides and what looks like a hefty file, bound in old-fashioned brown card paper. However, Derek only has eyes for the tray containing a sandwich and a bottle of water. There’s a guard in the room, who motions him to sit on the far side of the table and cuffs him to it. Derek tries not to let his disdain at the useless precaution show. He could snap the handcuffs without breaking a sweat. Of course, he won’t do that.

He’s deliberately not looking at the food. If he’s too obvious about how hungry and thirsty he is, they’ll use that against him. Instead he assesses the situation. Callahan has taken a seat opposite him now. Derek could easily lunge across the table and break his neck before he could activate the collar but the guard by the door has a trigger as well. There’s no way Derek can incapacitate both of them in time. And how would he explain that kind of strength and speed? First and foremost in his mind is always the thought that nothing out of the ordinary must ever show up on the recordings these people are making of him.

“So,” Callahan says, picking up the file and leafing through the pages, as if this is just a friendly chat, like a job interview maybe. “Let’s talk about the who before we talk about the what, shall we?”

Derek doesn’t answer, just keeps a blank face.

Callahan looks up and gives him a long look. “You may have the food, if you like.”

Trying to rein in his eagerness, Derek pulls the plate towards himself warily. He has learned to mistrust everything in this place. Callahan might change his mind if Derek's reaction is too slow. Or he might change it if Derek's too fast. Or for no reason whatsoever. Derek even mistrusts his own senses by now. Maybe Callahan didn’t say what he thinks he did. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. He watches Callahan carefully from under his eyelashes as he bends his head so he can bite the sandwich, as his cuffed hands prevent him from lifting it more than three inches off the table.

Callahan nods benevolently, then looks back at the papers in his hand. “So, I see here you were quite a good student. Beacon Hills High School. Good athlete, too. Popular?”

Derek shrugs. “I had friends.” As taciturn as he normally is, it’s good to talk after being silent for so long. And it’s good be out of his cell where there’s nothing to do but being aware of how close his wolf is to shifting. He wonders about the full moon. Every day feels like it might be the day because his wolf is getting ever more impatient. The moon has always governed his life. There hasn’t been a single moment when he’s not been very aware when the next full moon is. Now he doesn’t even know if it’s day or night.

“Your eldest sister was at the same school, I see. And yet your younger siblings were home schooled. Why was that?”

“It was just something my mother wanted. Laura and I were home schooled until high school, too.” He hopes that it will suffice. There’s no way he can tell this man the truth: that werewolf children aren’t fully trusted around humans until high school age.

“So that’s the reason you two were the only family members not at the house when it burned down.”

Derek can feel his heart miss a beat. For the first time since they’ve entered the room he’s asking himself what kind of file this is. He was so focused on the food and, quite frankly, the company, that he didn’t even wonder about it. Who keeps files on his life? The school? The sheriff? Where did Callahan get it? What else does it contain?

“How does it feel being the only surviving member of a rather large family? It must be terrible for you. I mean, even your sister got killed. And your uncle, although I understand he was barely alive after the fire anyway. How does it feel, Derek?”

The food Derek’s just finished barely satisfied his hunger, but now he has trouble hanging on to it, as his stomach turns. He does _not_ talk about the fire. Not ever. “It feels like you’d imagine it to feel,” he finally grits out.

“And this woman, this Kate Argent, she killed your family because she was crazy?” Callahan leans forward to peer into his eyes. “Or because she found out what you are?”

Derek grabs the bottle of water and downs it quickly. He’s not expecting this little chat to last much longer because he has nothing to say. He couldn’t if he wanted to. So it’s prudent to get the water while he has a chance. He’s never told anyone about Kate, how she tricked him, how she used him, how she made him hate himself. _Everything_ is his fault.

“She was crazy,” he says eventually, his voice cold. He doesn’t know how to react otherwise. He can’t talk about this as if it were just a topic of conversation like any other, can’t even pretend this isn’t cutting him up every time he thinks about it. Cooperation is not an option, however much he may crave the food and not being stuck alone in that goddamned cell any longer. The only alternative would be to reach out and break Callahan’s neck. But he can’t shift the feeling that the man is his only ticket out of here.

He’s wrong about his interview being cut short. His first reaction of relief soon turns into dismay when Callahan relentlessly asks him questions over and over again, about the fire, about his family, about Kate. But most of all, he always comes back to the same question: “What are you?”

“Why did you bring me here?” Derek finally asks the one question that’s been foremost on his mind. How did he end up in this mess, when it’s not about werewolves?

“I saw you.”

“You saw me?”

“I was in the Beacon Hills Preserve one night, doing field research. Do you realize that there’s a rare species of field mice native to those woods? Fascinating creatures. So I was watching them and then I saw you. Only you weren’t you. You were something else. And then you changed right in front of my eyes. You must understand that the scientist in me couldn’t let that pass.” He sounds almost apologetic.

Derek pieces together that Callahan saw him on the night of the full moon when he was shifted and running through the woods. He must have been near the house when Derek returned there and shifted back, but not so near that Derek would have sensed him. Maybe Callahan was using nightvision binoculars. That would also explain how he knows that Derek is _something_ but nothing definite. What he saw was enough for him to decide to make Derek his next project. Derek can only hope that the light was so bad that night that he’ll eventually be able to persuade Callahan that he didn’t see what he saw. For now he’s talking himself hoarse explaining that he’s just an ordinary man.

By the end of the week Derek’s so exhausted he’s hard-pressed to string the simplest of sentences together. He spends his short resting periods dreaming that Stiles is sending him help, ignoring that he has no idea what that help might look like when he remembers that he’s in a government facility.

 

 

 

**Week Three – Stiles**

School has never been a distraction for Stiles. He has the ability to keep up his grades without really following the lessons. In fact, following the lessons would be the real challenge for him. But the third day back after the long summer brings a distraction of a different kind.

When Stiles sits down for lunch in the cafeteria, Scott’s already at the table. Stiles digs into his curly fries, which accompany the rubbery substance that passes for chicken at his school, supplemented by a gooey pudding with plenty of chocolate sauce and an apple to turn the whole thing into a healthy meal. He sighs inwardly when he sees Scott already preoccupied with Allison, who’s sitting two tables away in conversation with Lydia. Strangely enough Lydia no longer has the same appeal for Stiles, despite the fact that she is now technically single – as if Lydia’s relationship status ever made any difference to how much of chance Stiles has. Still, she gives him a cool nod, which is more than Scott is getting from Allison, who has apparently developed a convenient case of selective blindness.

Stiles doesn’t even try to start a conversation because he knows that if the subject isn’t Allison, Scott won’t pay any attention anyway and Stiles has other things on his mind. Like Isaac, for example, who’s making a beeline for their table and sprawls in the seat opposite them.

“Hey,” Scott says, startled from the reverie of his ex-girlfriend.

“Hey.” Isaac barely glances at him, focusing on Stiles instead. “Where is he?”

Contrary to his usual habit, Stiles doesn’t start a long-winded conversation about the clarity of speech and the pitfalls of ambiguous questions. They both know whom Isaac’s talking about. “I was hoping he’s with you. When did you get back?”

“Last night.”

“Any luck?” Apart from Derek, Stiles would also dearly like to know where Erica and Boyd are.

Isaac shakes his head. “False alarm. How long has he been gone?”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?!” Isaac glares at him, ignoring the strange looks that his outburst is drawing from the people around them. “And what have you done to find him?”

“Hey, I looked for him,” Stiles says defensively. “He left without a word. There’s only so much I can do.”

Isaac turns to look at Scott, who raises his hands in a defensive gesture.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not his brother's keeper.”

“Not my brother’s keeper,” Stiles corrects automatically.

“Really? That makes even less sense.”

“Naturally, it’s from the bible.”

Scott looks vaguely scandalized, but is shaken out of it by Isaac getting up abruptly with the accompanying unpleasant scrape of the plastic chair on linoleum. Then Isaac is stalking away towards the cafeteria door.

“B r b,” Stiles mutters as he gets up to rush after him. He catches Isaac right by the door and grabs his arm, earning himself a growl. This is followed by Isaac sharply turning his head towards Scott, who’s still at the table.

“What?” Stiles asks, feeling left out by the wordless display between the two werewolves.

“Your boyfriend just growled at me,” Isaac says.

Stiles smiles, warmed by the support of his best friend, but lets go of Isaac’s arm nonetheless. Best not to provoke a fight in the school cafeteria. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“No,” Isaac says with a beatific smile. “You’ve got the hots for Derek nowadays, otherwise why would you even care?”

“I wanna help.”

“I get that. Doesn’t answer my question, though, does it? Why?”

Stiles shrugs, looking back at Scott, who has most of his attention focused back on Allison already. “I just do. Are you telling me you don’t need any help?”

“Good point. Any ideas?”

“Fresh out,” Stiles admits. “But I’m thinking why not start closer to home? Home is where the heart is and all that. Blood’s thicker than water?”

“Peter?” Isaac scrunches up his face. It seems he has as much love for the older Hale as Stiles has.

“Well, he said he didn’t know where Derek is, which leads me to believe that he probably does.”

Isaac is still looking like he’d rather go ten rounds with the alpha pack than Peter, but all he says is, “I actually have no idea how to find him.”

Stiles pats Isaac companionably on the shoulder. “That’s where I come in.”

 

 

 

“This is such a crazy idea,” Isaac whispers as the two of them climb through the window into the small bedroom.

“Don’t worry I do this stuff all the time,” Stiles assures him, then stops dead in his tracks as the occupant of the room, an elderly lady in a pink nightgown, switches on the bedside lamp, illuminating the intruders.

“Who are you?” she asks, showing anger rather than fear and peering myopically at them. “We’re the new night nurses,” Stiles says, hastily straightening up from his crouch. He swallows nervously but his bravado always sees him through. “How are you today, ma'am? Can we get you anything?”

“I’d like a cup of chamomile tea, please, since you’re asking. And make sure it’s hot this time, young man.”

Stiles pushes Isaac towards the door. “Of course, ma’am, coming right up. One tea, extra hot.” He‘s surprised when Isaac opens the door without hesitation, then remembers that his enhanced hearing would have told him that the dimly-lit corridor outside is empty. No need for stealth.

Isaac glowers at him as if it’s his fault the old lady woke up.

“This way,” Stiles says, ignoring the unspoken accusation, and marches ahead. He remembers this place from last year when he ran into Peter, who then proceeded to beat the crap out of his nephew. Not one of Stiles’s fonder memories, except when he also remembers Derek's panicked voice, telling him to get out of there and how he attacked Peter with no real hope of winning so Stiles could get away.

Then and now there’s only one nurse on duty and luckily she’s nowhere to be seen right now. He swings around the desk and sits down in front of the computer, which has helpfully been left running.

Isaac lurks a few feet away, watching the corridor now, while Stiles tries to type something but only receives a password prompt for his troubles. He logs out and logs back in as Melissa McCall. How hard can it be to crack her password? He trusts that Melissa isn’t quite as silly as to have the same username and password but still hits gold with Scott’s name and date of birth. He should tell her to be less obvious. Or not, in case he’ll need her access again sometime in the future.

He types in Peter Hale’s name and groans at his own stupidity when he sees the information on the screen. Isaac turns to him to make questioning eyebrows, which he must have picked up from his alpha, but turns back to the corridor almost instantly. “Nurse’s coming,” he whispers superfluously.

Stiles closes down the window and logs out again, hoping that no one will trace this back to Melissa. Then he gets up and looks for an escape. “Ah, fuck it,” he says finally. “Let’s just run for it.”

They dash out of the recess that harbors the nurses’ station and down the corridor in the opposite direction from the approaching nurse. Surprise has her shrink back first, then shout a useless threat at them as they’re fleeing towards the main door. Isaac is way ahead of him and already sitting in the jeep by the time Stiles arrives, throws himself in the driver’s seat and drives off with squealing tires.

“You _are_ crazy,” Isaac says with conviction.

“More like stupid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Where are you even going? At this speed you’ll get pulled over in a minute.”

“Don’t worry. I know the sheriff.”

“Very funny. Where are you going?”

“I’m taking you home,” Stiles says, turning into the deserted rail depot and doing a screeching turn before coming to a stop. “Or are you staying at the house in the woods?”

Isaac stares at him as if he's lost his mind, actually shrinking back a bit, possibly to get away from the madman next to him. “Neither,” he says finally and pointedly. “I’m staying at Derek's loft over on Baker.”

Now it’s Stiles’s turn to stare. “Derek has a place to stay? A real place with real electricity and real indoor plumbing?”

“Yeah. He bought it a couple of months ago after he sold his place in New York.”

“Oh.” Stiles doesn’t know what to say for a while, then comes up with, “How nice of him to tell me. Well, direct away.”

It takes less than five minutes to get to Isaac’s new home. Stiles gets out of the jeep, hoping that maybe Derek is here, as if Isaac hasn’t slept here for the past two nights and would have noticed. He peers up at the top of the building, but every window is draped in complete darkness. “Doesn’t this cause problems on the full moon? I mean don’t the neighbors complain about the howling?”

Isaac gives him his most icy look. “Derek owns the whole building. There are no neighbors. Now, did you get Peter’s address?”

“No. I made a slight miscalculation there. A small one. Tiny really.” Stiles tries to cover his embarrassment by playing down his faux-pas.

Isaac looks like he’s on the edge of his patience. “In what sense?”

“I forgot that Peter was in the hospital for the last few years. And then he simply left one night and never returned. So the address they have on file for him is… the Hale house.”

“Oh crap!” Isaac says with feeling.

They both jump when they hear a voice behind them. Later, when Stiles is no longer near fainting with fright, he'll have to remember to chide Isaac for his lack of alertness. That’s a pretty poor performance for a werewolf. But naturally he will only be able to do that if they survive this.

“Hello, boys, are you looking for me?” Peter says in his inimitably suave tone.

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

**Week Four – Derek**

 

Laura is wearing a dress. The red one that she wore for the Winter Formal, the one their dad smirked more than smiled at but their mother called adorable. It clashed ridiculously with her personality, a princess dress for a tomboy, but not as much as it clashes now because she’s berating him while twirling one of the lace flowers. She has never berated him before. During their childhood she was always teasing. She was older, more mature and stronger, with better instincts, destined to be the alpha. He was the carefree second child. No great things were expected of him and as more siblings came along, he led a life without pressure. The age gap was too small for him to have to babysit, so that and all other arduous tasks fell to Laura. She thrived on it.

After the fire, she fell silent as much as Derek did. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready. She coped admirably with the practicalities of life, but fared no better than he did with coping with what had happened. So, neither of them had much to say. Now she is very vocal.

“It was all your fault! You did this! You killed our family!”

He can but agree. And tell her how sorry he is, over and over again. He knows it won’t make any difference. Being sorry doesn’t absolve you from something like this. It doesn’t soothe your own conscience, so how can it make anyone else forgive you? He can feel tears prickling in his eyes because she’s so cold. She’s never been this angry before.

“I’m sorry, Laura. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know. I was stupid. I was always so stupid.”

“Derek.” Soft, benevolent, caring.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Derek. You’re safe now. I know you’re sorry. It’s alright.” Not Laura’s voice.

He wakes up, lifting his head slowly from where it was resting on his crossed forearms. Callahan is sitting across from him, smiling that gentle smile of his. Slowly Derek remembers. Callahan allowed him to sleep for half an hour. It doesn’t matter that it was right here in the interrogation room, he’s still so very grateful. He needs to sleep. His body doesn’t function like it should any longer. They’ve started running low-level electricity through the collar at all times. He couldn’t wolf out now if he tried. And they’re not letting him sleep, shock him awake after a few minutes every time he drops off despite the steady current. Callahan is trying to help him, but he can’t if Derek doesn’t cooperate fully. It hurts him because he’s started to like Derek and hates seeing Derek this way. He said so.

Derek is trying to repay his kindness, he really is. But there’s something he’s not allowed to talk about. His mother said. It was their number one rule from when he was little to this day. He must not talk about it, if only he could remember what it is.

“What are you sorry for, Derek?”

Callahan is so very kind, his smile soft and encouraging. Derek feels bad for not telling him what he wants to know. So he does. He tells him about Kate Argent, about his relationship with her, his voice thick because he’s so incredibly ashamed of what he did. And it does nothing for him. For the longest time he thought that unburdening himself of that secret would be cathartic somehow. Maybe it would if Callahan understood what it meant. But he hasn’t come to the worst part yet.

“That must have been awful for you, Derek. To be betrayed like that by someone you loved. And why did she kill your family? Did she find out what you are and thought they were, too?”

There it is. He remembers now. He mustn’t talk about _werewolves_. He must never let on that his healing powers are anything other than a strange freak of nature, that he’s not the only one. But Callahan is so nice to him, trying to help him in this terrible place, giving him food and water, letting him sleep when no one is watching and all he’s asking for is some information. Not for himself but because _they_ are putting pressure on him. Everybody needs something in return for the nice things they do for you. Derek knows that.

But there's always Stiles at the back of his mind now, who’s been nice to him recently without asking for anything. On the contrary, he’s been helping despite Derek being hostile most of the times. He feels terrible about that now. Why was he so unreceptive when all Stiles was offering was his time and maybe his friendship? Derek's been fending for himself for so long, that he’s wrapped himself in a cocoon of defensiveness so tight it’s almost suffocating. It’s helped him survive so far, but it’s breaking down right now. The lack of sleep, the hunger, the cold and the constant barrage of questions that are prodding further and further into his secrets have ripped him wide open. He wants to do something nice for Callahan, who’s been nothing but kind to him, but he can’t quite bring himself to trust him fully. Not yet.

First Callahan needs to live up to one other person, that other stranger who came into Derek’s life when he was at his lowest and who has never let him down so far and most of all never asked for anything in return. And somehow despite all appearances, Callahan can’t quite reach the level of trust Derek has in Stiles.

 

 

 

When he’s alone in his cell, not really sure if he’s awake or asleep most of the time, he thinks of Stiles. It takes him away from here to a place that’s only just starting to feel a little like home again. He thinks of Stiles’s smile and his full-body laugh, of his soft eyes that betray the hidden depths beneath his snarky remarks and casual over-sharing. Stiles isn’t stupid or crazy like some people think. He has turned the disadvantage of his condition into an asset. Nobody can get away with things like Stiles can, because everybody around him is excusing his behavior with their own ideas of who he is or they dismiss him outright. There’s freedom in being considered a little odd.

He spends hours wondering how much of Stiles’s behavior is deliberate misdirection. Or about how smart Stiles really is. Is he intelligent or street-smart or both? Or he thinks about Stiles’s moles, trying to remember their exact pattern, a raggedy line with some outliers on one cheek, fewer and more of a cluster on the other. He isn’t quite sure why he thinks about Stiles all the time, only that it helped keep his equilibrium in the beginning and now stops him from giving in.

Stiles smells really good. Derek likes his shampoo but even more so the way his body smells on its own. Some people just smell pleasanter than others. Even the slightly bitter hint of his medication doesn’t change the fact that Stiles’s smell is very attractive. He also has the most beautiful eyes. As with most people, they change color with the light and Stiles’s different moods. They're also framed by really long eyelashes. And he’s been growing his hair out over the summer. It suits him.

He tries not to smile when he thinks of Stiles because they shock him whenever he smiles. But thinking about him gives him hope. It’s probably false because there’s no reason to believe that Stiles even cares enough to notice that he’s gone, never mind enough to go looking for him. And even if he does, there’s not much he can do. People disappear in government facilities all the time or so popular conspiracy theorists like to tell everyone.

Still, he keeps his mind firmly on Stiles because he’s not only the one person who’s not let Derek down, but also the only one of whom the reverse is true as well. It doesn’t hurt to think of Stiles.

It’s only when he’s with Callahan that he has an inkling of why he’s so focused on Stiles most of the time. Because Callahan is his friend now. He has food and water, and he can bring sleep and he’s trying so hard to be Derek's friend. All Derek has to do is tell Callahan everything. He wants to, more and more each day. Surely there’s no harm in it? Callahan said he would make sure that no harm will come to Derek or anyone else if Derek just tells him about his powers. He’s hinted that if he doesn’t, _they_ will have to do experiments on Derek and he was most upset about that, practically begging Derek not to let it come to that. Callahan’s a good guy. But Derek has promised himself he will share any and all his secrets only with someone he trusts completely. It could be Callahan.

But only if he can live up to Stiles.

 

 

 

“Why won’t you tell me?” Callahan asks him, his head forward and his voice low because mostly they’re trying to have conversations quietly enough so the microphones won’t pick them up. Callahan says he doesn’t really trust _them_ either. “Are you protecting someone? You realize that they’ve abandoned you, don’t you? You don’t owe them anything anymore.”

Derek is just one step away from passing out in his seat. His head keeps nodding forward and his vision of the man opposite him is slightly blurred. He should just tell him. Surely Callahan wouldn’t tell anyone else about werewolves. Anybody with a bit of intelligence would realize that it would be dangerous if it became common knowledge. And he likes Callahan. Callahan is his friend. He's just not... “You've no moles.” Derek suppresses a snorting laugh because any sign of humor is severely punished. He doesn’t even know why he said it or why it’s funny.

“Moles? No, we don’t. This is not that kind of governmental department. No spies or moles here. Just scientists. I told you that. You’re safe with me.”

It takes Derek a little while to work out what that has to do with what he said. Did he even say anything or was that all in his head? He must have done. Callahan’ response sounded like an answer to something he said. But Derek was only talking about… oh, he gets it! That’s pretty funny. Hilarious even. Stiles would love it. Derek snickers a little hysterically and passes out for a few moments from sheer exhaustion, hitting his head hard on the table. He jolts awake from the pain shooting through him, blinking repeatedly and trying hard to keep upright.

“You disappoint me, Derek,” Callahan says, sounding very upset. “I’ve been trying to help you for so long now and each time you throw all my efforts back in my face. I’m afraid you don’t leave me any choice here. Tomorrow we'll start testing. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands.”

Derek looks at him with bleary eyes. He feels just as upset as Callahan looks. It’s not right to make this man’s life more difficult. But he has to cling to his convictions and his most important conviction right now is the fact that only Stiles deserves his full trust. He’s no longer sure why that is the truth, only that it is.

 

 

 

 

**Week Four – Stiles**

 

Their chat with Peter is memorable in that it’s the most scared Stiles has been in a long while. It’s good to be reminded that werewolves are dangerous, even if he’s lost most of his fear by being surrounded by more friendly specimens and that includes Derek.

Stiles knew, or at least suspected, that Peter knew more than he let on and it turns out that he does have some information. It’s unclear where this is coming from but Stiles isn’t too worried about that. At least there’s finally some news. He hasn’t been aware how much he’s been bothered by the complete lack of information so far.

“I examined the ground by the house and there seems to have been a scuffle. Not a proper fight, no blood, but the scent of several men.”

“Dude, there was like a five-hour thunderstorm the other day. Don’t tell me you could scent anything after that,” Stiles interjects because he will never ever trust Peter. By the uncomfortable roll of Isaac’s shoulders Stiles realizes that he’s not the only one fearing Peter Hale, especially late at night in a darkened parking lot outside an empty building.

“Well, good thing I checked _before_ the storm then, isn’t it?” Peter seems amused rather than offended.

“Yeah, that _is_ fortunate,” Stiles snarks, leaving the obvious _why-didn’t-you-say-anything-sooner_ unsaid. It’s a little unfair because Peter wasn’t to know that Stiles would be interested, but Stiles doesn’t really care about fair where Peter’s concerned.

“So I asked around and apparently there was an ambulance seen at the old house.”

“Why would Derek need an ambulance?”

“Exactly. Oh, and I found this.” Peter produces a tranquilizer dart.

Stiles’s eyes widen in surprise and dismay. “Hunters?”

“Hardly. This is an ordinary dart laced with Ketamine."

“Would that even work on a werewolf?”

“Not at all. It’s like they were trying to annoy him to death. And I believe that’s your prerogative, hyperactive boy.”

Stiles bares his teeth in a _very-funny!_ expression to acknowledge and dismiss the remark at the same time.

“So, what really happened?” Isaac interjects.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there, was I? I assume they incapacitated him in some other way, put him in the ambulance and drove off.”

There’s a long pause while both teens look at Peter expectantly. Peter in turn just looks back at them in silence, eyebrows raised.

“You knew all this and you did _nothing_?” Stiles finally explodes. “It’s been weeks! He could be dead or being tortured and you just felt like sitting around, sharpening your claws? Why didn’t you tell someone?”

“Because this is the first time someone’s asking.” Peter obviously thinks that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.

“Your family is the most dysfunctional I’ve ever seen,” Stiles mutters and swings himself back into the jeep. “You wanna ride somewhere?”

Isaac shakes his head, nodding towards the building. “I’m just gonna go up.”

Stiles feels a little bad about leaving him there with the creepy branch of the Hale family tree, but he reasons that Isaac is far better equipped to handle him than Stiles will ever have any hope to be. He goes home because it’s very late and there’s nothing he can do tonight. He’s furious, so fucking furious that he spends two hours pacing in his room despite the late hour. He’s angry with Peter for keeping this to himself. He’s mad with Scott for not wanting to help when Stiles has known from the beginning that something wasn’t right. He’s even incensed with Derek for getting himself into trouble again.

But in the end he has to admit that he’s really only upset with himself for letting it slide for so long. He’s no better than Scott really, or Peter. Worse even because somehow he feels that it was his job to do something about this.

 

 

 

The next day he turns up at the hospital in the early hours of the morning. It’s easy to locate Melissa, who seems to spend more time at work than she does at home. A lot of the nurses know who Stiles is, either as Scott’s friend or as the sheriff’s son, and are happy to help point him in her direction.

“Stiles,” Melissa says when she sees him. “Is everything okay? Scott alright?”

“Scott’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Well, actually that isn’t true. A… friend of mine’s had an accident.” It’s the first time he’s called Derek that and it feels strange, like something long overdue. “The neighbors said he was driven away in an ambulance. I was hoping you could help me find him.”

“A… friend,” Melissa says, pausing in exactly the same way Stiles did, but it’s obvious that her pause means something completely different. She’s making assumptions. Everyone's been making assumptions lately.

Stiles is nothing if not an opportunist. “Yeah,” he says with an exaggerated nod, trying to look embarrassed. “Can you help me?”

“Sure, but why don’t you ask his parents?”

“Dead.”

“Really?” She’s less convinced now that he’s not telling tales. She’s known him since he started kindergarten after all. But that also means that she can never really deny him anything. She takes a seat at one of the computers and logs in. For once, Stiles doesn’t need to try and catch a glimpse at the password in case it'll come in handy at some point.

“Name?”

“Derek Hale.”

Melissa looks up from the screen and gives him a scrutinizing stare. Stiles attempts to look cute and make doe eyes or something as much as he can. How does Scott do this so easily?

It turns out that Derek isn’t at the hospital. Stiles didn’t expect him to be. If he was injured, he would have healed long before now. He’s just glad that he’s not in the morgue either. The doe eyes seem to be doing the trick because she picks up the phone and calls around neighboring hospitals to find out if Derek's there. Stiles is fidgeting his way through half an hour of listening to her asking the same questions over and over, hoping it’s not bad news.

In the end, it’s just no news at all. Which is good. He’s not sure he could handle bad news.

 

 

 

His next stop is a little harder because some people are just immune to his ways and no amount of cute will ever have any effect on them.

“What did you do?” his dad asks when Stiles enters his office with coffee from the diner down the road.

“I’m hurt, Dad. Here I am, being a loving son, who brings you your favorite beverage and you accuse me of ulterior motives. Why would you do such a thing?”

“Experience,” his dad sighs, grabbing the coffee out of his hand. “Why are you even up? It’s Saturday. Usually you don’t surface until lunchtime.”

Stiles shrugs. It’s a compelling argument, one he hasn’t adequately prepared for, which he blames on his lack of sleep. So he tries the truth. “I’m worried about a friend of mine.”

“Well, if your first instinct is to look for them at the police station, you should be worried.”

“I’ve already been at the hospital.”

The sheriff nods solemnly, then sighs and pulls his keyboard closer. “Name?”

Stiles winces a little. “Derek… Hale.”

His father leans back in his chair and looks at him. “Since when is the Hale kid your friend? And when I say kid, I mean a man in his twenties who shouldn’t have a reason to hang out with teenage boys.”

“Why is everyone assuming he’s my boyfriend?” Stiles exclaims. “Can’t I just be friends with someone? So he’s hanging out with teenagers. Is that so bad? You hang out with teenagers.”

“You’re my son. I’m obliged by law to hang out with you.”

Stiles knew he shouldn’t have gone for the truth, but he’s incredibly tired and also forgot to take his Adderall before he came out. “So I take it he’s not here then? Could you at least keep an ear to the ground to see if anything comes up? Anything at all? He’s been gone for a couple of weeks or more.” Stiles gets up and shuffles towards the door, trying to rein in his disappointment that his father is dismissing his worries like that. It happens sometimes and it stings every time. He’s also rapidly running out of ideas, so he’s seriously considering trying the Argents next. Maybe the guys who took Derek were hunters after all. It’s a long shot, but so are all his ideas apparently.

“I don’t need to do that,” his dad says. “I have an idea where he might be.”

Stiles whirls around and eagerly steps back up to the desk. The relief threatens to make him do something stupid, like yelling a celebratory _woohoo_ or buckling his knees. “You do? Where is he?”

“ _That_ I don’t know exactly, but I do know that I had a request for his file the other day. I kept a flag on it ever since he was arrested.”

“Really? And who made that request?”

“The sheriff from a neighboring county.”

“Which one?”

The sheriff snorts. “Like I’m gonna tell you, so you and Scott can go on one of your crazy adventures.”

“Scott’s not interested.” And _wow_ that came out a lot more bitter than intended.

Stilinski is silent for a few moments. “I’ll make some enquires… if you can promise me that a) Hale isn’t your boyfriend or if he is, that there will be full disclosure from now on, and b) you won’t go off and do something stupid.”

“I promise you Derek’s not my boyfriend. Not even close. And I never do anything stupid. All my plans are totally sane and meticulously planned. It’s just that sometimes life conspires to make it seem like my planned plans are actually not… planned.”

His father doesn’t budge.

“I promise I won’t do anything stupid,” Stiles sighs finally. He’ll do whatever it takes to get the information. Technically he’s not even lying since he never thinks what he does is stupid. Not until he gets to view it in hindsight and from his dad’s perspective.

“Sit over there and be quiet,” the sheriff says and pulls the phone closer, already looking up the number on his screen.

Stiles sits in the corner and feels like he’s crawling out of his skin. He taps his foot and bites his lower lip and generally wriggles around in the chair. His father largely ignores him, while he talks to his counterpart in Fairwater County about the weather and the general job situation before he asks outright why Derek's file was requested. There’s a long stretch filled with _hhhmmm_ and _why_ and _who_ and _I see_ , before he finally puts the phone back down.

Stiles is up and at the desk in seconds.

Stilinski scratches his head. “Seems like the sheriff asked for the file because a friend of his requested it. This friend is a doctor and apparently Derek is a patient of his. He couldn’t tell me much, doctor/patient confidentiality and all that.”

“What kind of a doctor?”

"That’s the weird thing. Some government research facility out in the sticks. The sheriff thought they did animal testing out there. This Doctor Callahan is apparently the head honcho. If Hale’s there, I would think disease control. Maybe he picked up a nasty bug?”

“Not likely,” Stiles huffs, then catches himself. “He’s very fastidious. Has OCD. Cleans all the time. Can’t see him getting a bug.” He thinks of the Hale house and the train depot and tries not to laugh. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Remember your promise, son.”

“Yeah.” He nods at his dad and leaves the office in a hurry. He can’t get home fast enough. Adderall first, then research, lots of research.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

**Week Five**

 

He’s going to die here, he knows it. All he wants is sleep and never wake up again. He can’t get out of this damn room and even if he could, he couldn’t fight because his captors have found a way to incapacitate him so effectively that he stands no chance. And the worst of it is that they did so by sheer dumb luck. They still have no idea what he is.

He won’t tell them anything and so they’ve started experimenting just like Callahan told him they would. Even now, hours later, he can still feel the wounds although they’ve finally closed up. They started with shallow cuts as he lay on a gurney, tied down with leather straps he couldn’t break. Oh, they pretended it was scientific. They meticulously measured the length of each cut they inflicted, timed the healing periods, increased the depth in careful increments. But he knows they’re just floundering in the dark. They have no clue what they’re doing or what to do with him. He’s kind of glad that his powers are subdued and the healing is slow, otherwise he might find himself with far deeper wounds than he already does. If only it didn’t feel so pathetic that he can’t do the simplest things anymore.

He must have been here for weeks now and there’s no end in sight. They obviously don’t want to kill him and if they just injure him, he’ll heal, over and over and over again. By now he would rather die. What is the point of hanging on? He’s never going to get out of here. And even if he does, when was the last time that he wasn’t in pain? Not all scars can be seen or healed by his powers.

There’s no point in going on any longer, if there ever was after the fire. He’s alone. Callahan was right. Everyone’s abandoned him and he can’t even blame them. He’s a shitty alpha, just like he was a shitty son and brother. There is nothing for him out there and even less in here.

Laura is sitting over by the wall they’re not allowed to go near. He tried to tell her with his eyes to move away from there, but he’s too afraid that they’ll notice her and collar her, too, so he won’t speak to her. He mostly tries to not even look in her direction. She’s silently resenting him just outside his field of vision, but every now and then he catches a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. Only sometimes it’s not Laura it’s Stiles and Stiles isn’t quiet. No, Stiles tells him not to be so feeble and to not give up. Occasionally he even yells.

During his more lucid moments he supposes that Stiles didn’t look for him in the end. Or couldn’t find him. No, he’s going to go with didn’t look for him. He needs to hang on to some of his anger to anchor him. Believing that no one cares and everybody is just out to hurt him is so much easier – and borne out by experience. But he finds that he can maintain some form of equilibrium much better if he uses Stiles as an anchor instead. So he’ll believe that Stiles just couldn’t find him. Only, that leaves a glimmer of hope and hope is ever the most dangerous foe of all.

Tomorrow they’ll do more tests. Callahan said something about an MRI and X-rays. That doesn’t sound too painful but he’s sure they’ll find a way to make it hurt. Maybe break some bones first.

He’s sitting with his back against the wall in his cell, his knees pulled up, and stares at the door with unseeing eyes. It makes him look awake although that’s hardly the case, but it will stop them from shocking him awake when he falls asleep. He can’t remember the last time he closed his eyes.

Then, for the very first time since he got here, the lights go out.

 

 

 

“What are we doing here again?” Scott asks, looking around the roadside diner with a frown.

“You, my friend, are here to protect us,” Stiles says, patting his shoulder a few times while looking for their contact.

He’s spent the better part of his weekend trawling the internet with increasing impatience. The research facility his dad talked about was easy enough to find. It’s a private laboratory with governmental contracts, run by a man called Daniel Callahan, who is listed as ‘lead scientist’. Callahan is apparently a veterinarian, a professor no less, specializing in animal psychology. What they do at the place is unclear except that it's some sort of animal experiments. If they find Derek there, Stiles will never let him live it down.

But as little as he could find out about the facility itself, there was plenty on other sites, mainly animal rights groups. He’s not convinced that they know more about what’s going on in there than he does, but they have their sights set on it, especially a group that calls itself _Freedom For All Creatures_.

It took him a while to find a contact because their methods are not exactly legal – or even sane – and they like to stay anonymous. He finally made a connection on Sunday night and arranged a meeting with a girl, who goes by the name of Vixen. She’s easy to spot in her all black clothes and asymmetrical black hair amongst the flannel- and jeans-clad truckers who mainly frequent this place. He gives Allison a little nudge in the right direction.

It took time to persuade Scott and Allison to come along. Stiles felt like he’d have more of a chance to be convincing if he brought a female friend and Allison can play compassionate way better than Lydia. She isn’t too keen on helping Derek, but Isaac somehow got her to agree. Maybe she feels guilty about stabbing him. As soon as Allison was on board, wild horses couldn’t have kept Scott away. For a moment Stiles gets lost in the question of whether that expression is appropriate for werewolves. Does a herd of wild horses stand a chance against werewolves? Then he rallies himself and concentrates.

Scott sits down at the next table over, while Allison and Stiles take a seat opposite Vixen. The reception is somewhere between frosty and hostile. He can understand that. The _FFAC_ doesn’t like anyone encroaching on their territory.

“So what do you want?” she asks after Allison has given her spiel about feeling sorry for the cute little bunnies and such, while at the same time projecting her fierce protective warrior princess persona. Very convincing she is, too. Anyone would consider her an asset.

“We’re planning to raid Callahan’s place on Friday,” Stiles says and, to her credit, Allison is keeping a straight face despite knowing nothing about this.

“And?”

“And you guys have dibs on the place, so we’re offering to let you join in.”

“We don’t work with amateurs,” she says haughtily.

“Suit yourself. But we’ll be going in anyway and we don’t mind giving you all the credit.” He knows the _FFAC_ is in competition with a group called _Animals Are People_ , who are a lot more active and successful.

“What are you planning?”

Stiles shrugs. “The usual. Go in, free the animals, leave a message. Only, we don’t like to concern ourselves with publicity. So if you’re happy to bring some people, help out a bit, you can have all the glory.”

“We’re not doing it for that,” she hisses, but Stiles can already see that she’s hooked.

A guy, who blends in a lot better than Vixen does, gets up from a table in the corner and comes over to join them, making Scott shift warily for a moment. The guy is oblivious of the danger he’s in should he decide to make a move against either Allison or Stiles and just looks them over for a long time, before he says, “Okay, let’s organize this properly.”

Stiles has a hard time not to fist pump the air.

 

 

The preparations work just like he’d hoped. The _FFAC_ has already scouted the place and even obtained blueprints of the main building. They also know when the lone guardsman is doing his rounds. What has held them back so far is that the actual laboratory is surrounded by an eight-foot high electric fence.

Lydia goes to the strategy meeting with them. Stiles suspects it’s simply because she wants to save Allison from having to ride in the same car as Scott. Once there, she immediately loses points for turning up in high heels, a short skirt and a silk blouse, but takes all of two minutes to convince everyone that raiding a compound doesn’t mean you have to compromise on style when she has a plan ready after merely glancing at the blueprints. She points out that Scott could jump onto the roof from the neighboring storage building, which is outside the electrified perimeter. Stiles feels a pride in her that has nothing to do with infatuation and everything to do with friendship. The others are showing her a grudging respect but aren’t convinced.

“It’s a ten foot jump and the lab is three foot higher than the storeroom,” the guy from the diner – his name is Colt – interjects. “If it was possible, we’d have done it by now.”

Stiles looks at Scott, who in turn looks at Isaac, who’s huddling in a darkened corner. Isaac just shrugs into his scarf. Scott turns back to Colt. “We can do it,” he says easily.

There’s a pause while the other group voicelessly expresses their collective doubt. But the jump is the very first stage in the line of actions they’re planning, so if it goes wrong, everyone can still just pack up and go home. Eventually Vixen says, “If you fall and break your necks, we’re leaving you for dead.”

“Which they literally would be if they broke their necks,” Stiles points out. “Your concern is heartwarming.”

“It’s your funeral,” Colt shrugs.

“Again, going with the obvious here, on account of the broken necks and all,” Stiles snarks. “But don’t worry, no one’s breaking any necks.” He’s more worried about what comes after the jump. Because trying to get Scott to memorize the circuit board to switch the electric fence off will be like cramming for a physics exam. It won’t be easy. Just as well Isaac will be there.

 

 

On Friday night they arrive in three cars. Stiles is bringing Allison, Isaac and Scott in the jeep while Lydia opted to stay behind to run possible interference with the parents. Officially they’re all staying at her house. The _FFAC_ arrive in two black vans, which spill out almost twenty people, all dressed in black.

Stiles exchanges a look with his friends, of whom only Isaac was fully on board with this from the start. It makes him all the more grateful that Allison and Scott are here with him despite their misgivings. He knows they’re doing it for him, not Derek, and it feels good. He has to do this. He has to find Derek and soon or he’s going crazy. “Let’s do this, guys,” he says, grinning because he always wanted to say that.

They get out, closing the doors gently, and join the other group. The Beacon Hills contingent is also wearing black, so they can blend in with the others. They have balaclavas, too, because no way will Stiles force his dad to have to arrest him for breaking and entering. This way they’ll not stand out if anything goes wrong.

“Show us what you can do,” Colt says to Scott and Isaac, still sounding dubious.

With the exception of the three buildings in front of them, everything is dark. The nearest farm is four miles away and the nearest town ten. It’s eerily quiet apart from the humming of the fence and maybe some sort of generator. When the two werewolves head for the unprotected building, they’re swallowed up by the darkness immediately.

It takes less than two minutes before one of the members of the _FFAC_ gasps and all heads turn to the roof. Stiles is grinning smugly as two figures sail easily through the air from one building to the next.

“Holy shit,” Colt exclaims. “What are you? Some kind of ninjas?”

“You should ask them to join,” one of his friends mutters. “We could get in anywhere.”

It takes a little longer before the lights in the main building go out, plunging them all into profound darkness. The humming stops and the silence is paradoxically like a noise in Stiles’s ears.

“Quick,” someone hisses.

The others rush to sever the fence before the backup generator can cut in and bend it apart to keep it that way. They all scramble through the opening guided by headlights strapped to their foreheads. Stiles prays that the guard doesn’t use them for target practice.

Nobody has any idea where anything is inside the building. The blueprints didn’t helpfully say _here there be the animals_ or _don’t bother, this is just the janitor’s closet_. But the generator kicks in conveniently just as the side door is opened by Scott, so there’s a dim greenish emergency lighting.

“Where’s scarf man?” Stiles whispers. They all gave themselves code names because the last thing they want is anybody tracing this back to them. Scott is Omega. Allison is Joan after the maid of Orleans, although Stiles thinks Xena would be more appropriate, and Stiles called himself Spidey, but for some strange reason the people from the _FFAC_ keep calling him Spaz.

“Checking the top floor. Looked like offices to me,” Scott says.

They let the other group pass and some of them are already starting to spray the walls with slogans, while others are entering the rooms on this level. Some delighted shouts tell Stiles that there are indeed animals down here that will soon be running all over the place. Hopefully they won’t be infectious. He heads for the stairwell, aiming to explore the second level when he realizes that the steps go down as well as up.

“There wasn’t a basement level on the blueprints, was there?” he asks Allison because Scott couldn’t read a floor plan to save his life.

Allison shakes her head and the three of them head down rather than up. At the bottom is just one corridor with doors on either side. Everything is stark white or rather, green in the diffuse light. They open doors leading into examination rooms which are better equipped than some small hospitals. One room has a gurney in the middle and Scott sniffs, pulling a face. “Blood. He's here somewhere.”

Adrenaline overrides Stiles’s sense of dread. _Experiments_ , he tells himself, _not killing rooms_. One room simply looks like an interview room. “Where is everyone?”

“Isaac tied up the guard and I locked up some people who were still working in one of the labs.”

Allison gives an aborted shriek when she opens one of the doors and two monkeys fly at her. Scott growls, making the primates retreat back into the room, and then solicitously asks Allison if she’s alright. Meanwhile, Stiles opens another door to an empty room and then another. The doors are heavy and well-sealed with a tendency to shut on their own.

He opens the next door and stops in the doorway. There’s a very rudimentary bathroom and a second door. This is not a room you put a monkey in. He walks through the first room and pushes open the second door.

 

 

 

After the profound darkness, the light from the open door is blinding even if it isn’t as bright as Derek would have expected. He took the gift of darkness as an opportunity to rest his eyes and fell asleep almost instantly. Now he’s startled awake by someone bursting into his room.

If he didn’t recognize the silhouette, the flailing movements and the cry of, “Scott. In here,” would have sealed the deal. He blinks as his eyes adapt quickly. For just a few seconds, he wonders if this is a hallucination, just wishful thinking, but then decides he doesn't care and rallies himself to get up. Stiles is by his side before he can manage.

“Hey there, big guy. I hate to break it to you but right now you actually look like you belong here.” There’s a pause and then Stiles’s fingers insinuate themselves under the collar and run all the way around as if to check for hidden danger, tugging a little. “Fuck,” he mutters. “SCOTT!”

A moment later, Scott arrives next to them, almost gliding on the smooth floor. “Is he…?”

“He’s fine,” Stiles grits out. “Take this fucking thing off him.”

Derek smiles. He was right. Stiles wouldn’t laugh at the collar. Instead he seems outraged. He can feel Scott’s claws under the metal around his neck, slicing neatly through it in several places. Derek finally scrambles to his feet but stumbles a little with weakness. He needs time to recover. He shies away from Scott but allows Stiles to grab his arm and pull it over his shoulders to support him. It feels right to be this close to Stiles, but he doesn’t like Scott trying to touch him, so he growls in an unmistakable threat.

“Alright, alright,” Stiles chuckles, while Scott retreats a step or two. “We get it. Just one person allowed to prop you up. Everything else would be an affront against your alpha honor, right?”

Derek doesn’t answer and slowly makes his way towards the light, where Allison Argent of all people is keeping the doors open. He breathes a silent sigh of relief when they’re out in the corridor and he doesn’t need to fear electrocution any longer.

“Jeez, it was freezing in there,” Stiles remarks. “What were they trying to do? Turn you into the abominable snowman?”

Derek clings closer to Stiles because both Scott and Allison are far too near for his taste. He won’t feel safe until he’s out of here and away from other people. They take the stairs, with Allison leading the way and holding the doors and Scott bringing up the rear. Upstairs there’s a multitude of people dressed in black, making Derek shrink back. One of them stops spraying the walls in blood-red slogans to stare at them.

“Where did _he_ come from?” he exclaims, surprise and displeasure dripping from his words.

“We found him, so we got dibs,” Stiles retorts casually. “Finders keepers and all that.”

“He’s the reason you’re doing this,” the guy realizes suddenly. “I knew you weren’t legit.”

“Oh, we’re legit alright,” Stiles says almost pleasantly. “We legitimately had a reason to come here and legitimately helped you get in. Now do your thing and let us do ours. Oh, and there’s more animals downstairs.” He steers Derek towards the exit and out into the night.

Derek breathes in the cool air for only a few moments before panic sets in. “What day is it? I haven’t been out since they took me.”

“It’s Friday,” Scott supplies helpfully.

Stiles snorts at his answer and says quietly, almost intimately, “The full moon's in three days and it’s very cloudy. You’ll be fine.”

“Oh,” Scott says.

The ugly jeep is a more than welcome sight and Stiles somehow maneuvers Derek into the passenger seat just as Isaac comes sprinting out of the building.

“Derek,” he says relieved but stops his approach when Derek bares his teeth. Isaac bends his neck and averts his eyes in submission.

“Hey,” Stiles says mock sternly. “Isaac’s been looking for you. Don’t be mean to the puppy.”

Derek’s glad to see Isaac and even Scott but can’t let anyone near right now. He just can’t. He leans back in the seat and closes his eyes, feeling Stiles press against him as he’s buckling the seatbelt in and drapes a blanket over his naked torso. That’s okay. He’s trained himself to trust Stiles and only Stiles. When the engine starts purring and Stiles speeds away from his prison, Derek closes his eyes despite his fears. He’s asleep less than two minutes later.

 

 

 

Stiles drives without lights until they’re far enough away from the research facility not to draw any attention. His jeep is pretty memorable and he doesn’t want some helpful citizen to come forward later on when the news of the raid breaks. Only when they’re nearing the next town, does he switch his headlights on.

He shoots Derek some worried looks, but the man seems to be deeply asleep. He looks worse than he did when he was poisoned with wolfsbane. In the backseat, Allison is practically sitting in Scott’s lap, which Stiles is pretty sure Scott doesn’t mind a bit.

“That was a god awful place,” she says finally.

“And those guys were crazy,” Isaac chips in. “They completely trashed the offices and labs. They ruined all the computers. Those people we locked in, I had to let them back out because they set the building on fire.”

“Wow,” Scott says. “I’m really not okay with any of that. Why couldn’t we just do this on our own?”

“Because we were in a rush and they’d done all the legwork already,” Stiles explains patiently. “Plus, we didn’t know how many people we were up against, so there was strength in numbers. And most importantly, they’ll destroy every recording in that building from before and during the raid, so there’ll be no evidence of Derek or us ever having been there.”

“How is he?” Isaac asks, leaning forward a bit to peer at Derek.

“Sleeping,” Stiles says, pressing his lips together. He hates seeing Derek like this. It doesn’t bear thinking about what he must have gone through to reach this level of exhaustion.

 

 

 

They reach Beacon Hills two hours later and Derek comes awake with a start when Stiles kills the engine outside his building. He shrinks away from Stiles for a moment, disoriented and expecting an electric shock, before he recognizes him and relaxes. Stiles gives him a tentative smile.

When he gets out of the car, Derek stumbles a bit but catches himself on the door and growls at Isaac, who rushes to help him. His beta drops back, looking worried and upset. Then Stiles comes around to the passenger side. “What’s up, big guy?”

“I’m going up,” Derek says gruffly. He can’t look at Isaac because he knows he’s hurt him, but he can’t stand anyone touching him right now. “ _Alone_.”

“Oh no, you’re not,” Stiles says, grinning, his heart’s pounding giving away that he’s nowhere near as confident as he projects.

“Just you then.”

Stiles scrunches up his face in confusion, then shrugs and hands Scott the keys to his jeep. “Looks like I’m getting a tour of Derek's new and much less humble abode.”

Scott takes the keys in silence, his face showing utter befuddlement. Derek shoots Isaac a brief look, then walks slowly towards the building. He can hear his beta passing his door keys to Stiles and telling him which ones are for the front door and the loft and then explaining how the alarm system works. Derek knows he’ll have to change the locks now because he’ll never feel safe again, knowing that Callahan and his people have his keys.

They enter the loft and Stiles takes a few quick steps to hit the red button before the alarm goes off. “You know, I don’t think a big, red button is a very good burglar al… Holy shit!” He looks around the space with his mouth slightly agape. It’s obvious he’s never been here before and the sheer size is impressive.

Derek carefully locks the door behind them and walks over to the alarm to reset it. “It’s to warn me of people coming, not to keep people out.”

“Yeah, okay. Is this all yours? It’s beautiful, man.”

Derek veers towards his bed but Stiles hooks him by the arm. “Not so fast. I hate to break it to you but you reek, my friend. Where’s the bathroom?”

Derek is too tired to bother right now but he’s also too tired to argue, so he leads Stiles into the en suite. For the first time in weeks, he has a look at himself in a mirror and he has to admit that he does look terrible. His hair is greasy and matted, he’s deadly pale under his beard and his eyes are red-rimmed and crusted up.

“Shower,” Stiles says, turning on the water to let it run warm.

Derek nods obediently and tries to take the sweatpants off, nearly stumbling in the process. Stiles makes a grab for him but stops when Derek manages to balance himself without help. To be on the safe side, Derek sits on the toilet seat to get undressed. After a moment, Stiles averts his eyes and heads for the door.

“Stay,” Derek says without looking at him. How can he explain that he feels safe with Stiles around? That Stiles has been his anchor during his imprisonment?

“Uhm, okay.” Stiles waits until Derek has teetered naked into the shower before he sits on the closed toilet seat, studying the tiles between his feet. “I think we need to burn these pants.”

Derek will gladly do that himself. He takes the shampoo and pours some on his hair, then can’t keep his arms up long enough to wash it properly. Never in his life has he felt this weak and it’s embarrassing. But worse than Stiles seeing him like this would be to be alone right now. He sways a little, his shoulder hitting the glass wall with a heavy thud.

Stiles is up off his seat and has the door open in seconds. “You okay?”

Derek nods without looking at him.

“Need help?”

Derek nods again and Stiles seems taken aback for a moment, as if he didn’t expect him to admit it. Then he quickly sheds his clothes down to his boxers and gets into the shower. Derek hasn’t been washed by someone else since he was a small child. It makes him feel pampered and cared for and Stiles is surprisingly gentle. It’s only when it comes to Derek's genitals that he hands Derek the soap. “Not touching your junk, buddy, no matter how tired you are.”

When the shower is finished, Stiles leads him out of it gingerly as if he’s worried he might fall over. He wraps both of them in towels and walks next to Derek to the bed. “Now you can sleep. I’ll be right over there.”

Derek has no idea where _over there_ might be because all he can see is his bed. When was the last time he slept in a bed? When was the last time he slept properly at all? But the idea of sleep still frightens him. He wants it so badly, but he remembers only too well how sleep invariably brings pain. “Stay,” he says again because _over there_ is definitely too far away.

“I will. I promise. I’ll be right over there.” There’s a pause. “Unless you mean stay right over here?”

Derek just nods and slips under the covers. His whole body practically sighs with the physical comfort of having a mattress and a pillow under him and a warm duvet on top. Stiles walks away, making Derek panic slightly but he’s only turning the lights off. Then Derek feels the mattress dip as Stiles climbs into bed. For a few moments, Derek tries to get to sleep, but his eyes keep opening in expectation of punishment. Each time they close he’s transported back to his cell. He needs something to reassure himself that he is indeed home even when he can’t see it.

Turning over, he sees Stiles lying stiffly on his back, staring at the ceiling but directing his gaze at Derek when he turns.

“Turn onto your side,” he says and Stiles obeys carefully, so that they’re facing each other.

“Other side.”

Stiles looks at him for a while, then does as he’s told. “Just so you know, my boxers got wet in the shower, so you may notice a distinct lack of clothing. And it’s totally by necessity.”

“I won’t touch,” Derek says, meaning in a sexual way because he very much needs to touch right now. He slides one arm over Stiles’s waist and yanks him flush against his own body.

“Oh God,” Stiles huffs. “You may also be interested to know that this may not be considered touching for werewolves, but it is for us mere humans. And if I get a boner that’s just because I’m naked against another naked person, being a hormonal teenager and all. And when you wake up tomorrow, please, _please_ , try and remember that you made me do this, _before_ you rip my throat out. Because I can almost guarantee you that I’ll have a boner when I wake up as well.”

Derek can feel and hear Stiles’s heart thumping and feeling it against his skin makes him feel secure that he’s not alone. And if he’s not alone, he’s no longer incarcerated, which means he can sleep. The steady rhythm of the other heartbeat under his forearm will follow him into his sleep and keep him reassured. _Now_ he can sleep.

 

 

Derek wakes up with a start, instinctively curling in on himself before he recognizes his loft and slowly stretches out again. It’s warm and soft, with sunlight shining through the huge window. He hasn’t seen sunlight in far too long. Then the smell of bacon reminds him how hungry he is.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he hesitates to set his feet on the floor. But this is his loft, nothing will hurt him here, so he determinedly stands up and wanders towards the kitchen and that enticing aroma. About halfway there, he suddenly remembers that he’s naked and detours to put some sweatpants on before finding Stiles making breakfast.

“Ah, there you are,” Stiles grins at him. “I knew the smell of food would finally make you surface.”

Derek climbs onto one of the breakfast bar stools and pours himself a coffee. “How long have I been asleep?” He looks out the window. Judging by the sun, he can’t have been out for long because it’s only about lunchtime. They didn’t come home until the early hours of the morning. Yet he feels quite rested.

“Only about thirty-two hours.” Stiles puts several rashers of bacon on a plate that already contains scrambled eggs and a small stack of toast, sliding it to Derek, who has to catch it before it drops over the edge of the counter. A knife and fork follow in the same manner and Derek digs into his food with relish.

Stiles watches him with an amused smile on his face. Then he turns and makes a new batch of food, half of which he places on Derek's rapidly emptying plate, before sitting down and starting his own breakfast. “Are you feeling better?”

Derek grunts in the affirmative because he’s still a little disoriented. So, he slept for more than a day. No surprise there after the sleep deprivation he’s suffered. And he’s home now – unexpectedly, because he really thought he would die in that place. He was in such bad shape that he was starting to disappear into his own mind, which isn’t a pleasant place to be at the best of times. He kept thinking of Stiles a lot to anchor himself, so he wouldn’t drown in his own misery. What if he’s hallucinating? The way he remembers it, he and Stiles ended up naked in bed together. Surely that can’t be right. But it felt so real.

“Am I awake? I think I’m awake. Am I?”

Stiles looks up from his food, still chewing a very large mouthful, but his expression moves from bewildered to soft in an instant. He holds out his hand, all five digits spread while he swallows his food hastily. “Easy to test. Count my fingers. If it’s five, you’re good, otherwise you’re in deep shit.”

Derek stares at his hand for a moment. “I’m good, I think,” he says after counting.

“Or you could try and read something. Can’t read in dreams.” He shoves the cereal box a little closer.

Derek reads about nutritional values, which are obviously non-existent in this instance, and is finally convinced. He breathes out slowly in profound relief. “How did you find me?”

“My dad told me he had a request for your file,” Stiles launches into a rather amusing account of how they rescued him, making Derek wonder if Stiles’s life is as much fun as he always makes it sound.

There’s a pause where Derek realizes he should probably express his gratitude somehow, but he can’t. His whole relationship with Stiles has been tilted on its head, leaving him raw somehow, vulnerable.

After a while Stiles asks quietly, “What did they do to you?”

“They used electricity. I couldn’t shift.”

“The whole time?” There’s a kind of sick awe in Stiles’s voice.

“More than the Argents ever used. There was this guy, Callahan, some sort of professor. He was trying to help me. I think.”

“I highly doubt it. He was running the show. If he wanted to help, he had the power to do it.”

Derek blinks. Somewhere at the back of his mind he always knew this. That’s the reason he resisted for so long. Only, he couldn’t trust his own judgment in there, not when they left him alone with his own thoughts for so long, with too little food and too little sleep. That was what he needed Stiles for. He couldn’t use anger to anchor himself, so he used the only thing in his life that didn’t hurt in some way. “Is he dead?”

“No. But there’s a huge-ass investigation. It seems like he was running one of those forgotten government labs. He had a few contracts from ages ago but no one was checking up what he was actually doing. Well, they’re checking _now_. It’s almost a shame that the _FFAC_ burned the place down. Not much evidence left. But I think we can safely assume Callahan will retire.”

Derek nods. “Good.” He finishes his food and applies himself to his first coffee in weeks with the attention it deserves. When he looks up, he catches Stiles watching him raptly. Derek clears his throat. “I should shower. And shave.” His fingers rasp over his chin and the weeks of growth.

“Yeah, the mountain man look’s really not a good look on you. Are you gonna be okay?”

“In the shower?” Derek asks incredulously. “I should think so.” Then he remembers his last shower. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Stiles grins impishly but soon lowers his eyes, his ears turning a little red. “I was just trying to help.”

“No doubt.”

 

 

When Derek returns to the living room, freshly showered and shaven, he finds it full of teenagers. He did hear them come in while he was still in the bathroom, relieved to finally have his senses back. In fact he feels almost hyper-aware, like his senses are on high alert without any effort on his part. Isaac is there, with Scott and Allison and even Lydia. Apart from Isaac, who’s lived here for two months already, they’re all admiring the loft.

“How are you feeling?” Scott asks solicitously.

Derek just nods noncommittally and takes another coffee that Stiles hands him as he’s passing. He’s sure Stiles stayed with him for the whole time he was asleep. At least, he’s still wearing the same clothes he did the night they rescued him, all subdued black and not really his style. But, boy, does he look hot in black. Derek sets his mug down sharply, a little startled at his own thought, causing both Scott and Isaac to give him a searching look.

Stiles dips his head, trying to catch his eyes and raises his eyebrows questioningly when he does. Derek finds it amazing how quickly Stiles has assumed the role of confidant and just shakes his head, indicating he doesn’t want to talk about it. _Hell no!_ Stiles gives him an encouraging smile, then turns to Scott, carrying on a conversation they must have started before Derek came in.

“So, now that you’ve got Derek back, is there anything else you need me for?” Lydia asks finally. “It’s just that there are only so many hours in the day and there’s a lot of shopping to do.”

Derek looks at Stiles, who seems amused rather than hurt by her airy disdain for what they do. When did that happen? “Have you found any trace of Erica and Boyd?” he asks, first looking at Isaac, then at Stiles.

“I could do some more research,” Stiles offers. Looking around the room, he adds, “We seem to have more people now.”

Scott nods, appearing somewhat apologetic, while Allison looks reluctantly interested. Derek’s not keen on working with either of them. He doesn’t trust Scott after what happened with Gerard and Allison is a hunter, he’d be crazy not to keep her at a distance. Quite frankly, he’s not sure about Lydia either, but she’s already lifting her hands in a _stop-right-there_ gesture anyway.

“If you want me to do any translating or planning, call me. In the meantime I’ll be at the mall.” And with that she swoops out of the loft.

Stiles sets up his laptop on the breakfast bar, already engrossed in whatever he does on it.

“Isaac said there were a couple of places where you guys haven’t looked yet,” Scott says. “We could check them out. It’ll be faster if we all do it.”

It’s impossible to dislike Scott when he’s being helpful, but Derek still isn’t sure about the whole situation. He has no idea whom to trust any longer. Right now he can’t even let the others come within a certain distance of him without feeling threatened and wanting to attack them. He looks over at Stiles, finding Stiles already looking back at him expectantly. Everybody knows that Stiles will always trust Scott and with good reason because Scott will never hurt Stiles. But Derek needs to know if _he_ can trust Scott and the only person whose word he’s going to take on this is Stiles. However, he can’t ask outright, because he’s the alpha and asking for advice in front of the rest of the pack is not a good idea. He has to be strong at all times even if he feels anything but at the moment.

Stiles waits for a few beats before he shrugs. “Sounds good to me,” he says nonchalantly. “What do you think, Derek?” He’s nowhere near as subtle as he thinks he is but he has obviously understood Derek's hesitation.

Derek takes a relieved breath. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

  
  
  
**Week Six**

At first there was just relief at finding Derek. Stiles thought it was maybe a little disproportionate because when had he started to actually like Derek and worry about him? It was so profound that it made him wonder if he was just balancing out Scott’s weird dislike and his inexplicable – or maybe not so inexplicable when you factored in _Allison_ – preference for hunters over other werewolves. Stiles has never been on board with that. First of all because they are _hunters_ and Scott is a freaking _werewolf_. If Scott doesn’t have the brains to make the right decision on that score, Stiles will do it for him. It wouldn’t be the first time. And second, hunters are crazy killers, all of them, and to hell with their code that more often than not gets dropped at the first sign of becoming inconvenient. So, recently he’d been wondering if he liked Derek just to make up for Scott.

But when he saw Derek in that place, his knees nearly buckled and it was only adrenaline that got him through. Then the anger set in. How could anybody dare do this to Derek? What gave them the right? Stiles is so done with that shit. And the collar was just the last straw. It was immediately clear to him that it must be worse for a man like Derek, who has so much pride and needs that pride to hold himself together. He told Scott at the earliest opportunity not to mention it to anyone, ever.

Derek leaning on him was confusing at first but amusing pretty quickly after that. Nobody seemed to find anything strange about it, because isn’t it always Stiles who gets people out while the others do the heavy lifting? But that all changed when Derek growled at Isaac for the first time, because Isaac is his beta; they’re pack and Isaac should be the one he seeks support from.

And then things turned really weird. They _showered_ together. And then slept plastered against each other. _Naked!_ Stiles woke up with the biggest boner in the history of his puberty and considered himself very lucky that he was able to sneak into the shower to do something about it without waking Derek. While Derek was definitely the one to initiate the whole thing – he was the one who used Stiles as… what exactly? Comfort? Security blanket? – Stiles still felt strangely uncomfortable, like it was _him_ taking advantage of _Derek_. Because Derek was needy and vulnerable and Stiles knew he would hate himself – and Stiles – when he felt better.

There’s no sign of that though. Stiles has been here every day this week, ostensibly to help with the search for Erica and Boyd but more because Derek _wants_ him here and that never gets old. Everybody else notices it, too, judging by their looks. Scott has even asked him outright about what’s going on with him and Derek, to which Stiles just shrugged his own confusion. Meanwhile Isaac looks positively hurt and is getting strangely close to Scott. Apparently he’s staying with the McCalls for now.

Stiles can’t help feeling flattered by it all. To have a man like Derek, the alpha, defer to him. He remembers the first time the whole group of them was making plans. Scott made a suggestion and Derek looked at Stiles with raised eyebrows. Stiles couldn’t work out what was going on until it dawned on him that Derek was asking his opinion. Like it mattered, like he cared and it was important to him. He launched giddily into his own plan and Derek just nodded at the end of it, as if it was a done deal. Stiles is left wondering what happened to Derek's disdain, his perpetual anger and his arrogant belief that he alone adequately understands the situation.

With Stiles’s father on a seminar in Sacramento, no one is keeping an eye on where he is as long as he checks in with his dad in the evenings. So Stiles has a whole week to spend however he sees fit after school lets out. And he sees fit to spend it with Derek. At first it’s worry. Derek’s been tortured for a month and that’s bound to leave its mark. Not much is evident apart from his sudden weird affinity to Stiles and a reluctance to set his feet on the floor, especially when he gets up in the morning. When Derek sits down nowadays, he does it cross-legged or with his knees pulled up and his feet on the seat of whatever he’s sitting on.

Naturally, Stiles can’t refrain from asking about it.

Derek looks somewhat caught out, but the others have left and it’s just the two of them right now. “The floor in the cell was rigged with electricity. They used that before the collar.”

Stiles hopes that his face doesn’t show the full horror he’s feeling. They’re watching _Star Wars_ and eating tacos, and he gets up from his armchair to sit next to Derek on the couch. He just feels the need to be close, just in case Derek wants or needs it. After a few moments, he plays with the bottom hem of Derek's jeans making Derek suddenly shift a little to put his bare feet in Stiles’s lap. Trying to hide his surprise, Stiles absent-mindedly strokes the arch of Derek’s foot, hoping that he won’t embarrass himself by popping a boner anytime soon.

They’ve slept together a few times by now. Okay, so he knows it’s seven times exactly and is just pretending to be nonchalant about it. After the first time, Derek’s started wearing sweatpants, very thin, clinging sweatpants, which ride low on his hips when he walks about in them. Stiles tries very hard not to let his eyes wander any lower than the waistline, whether Derek is facing him or walking away. He’s not interested in Derek's ass or his dick, thank you very much.

Oh, whom is he kidding? He’s always been attracted to men and women in equal measures and just because he fixated on Lydia for years, doesn’t mean he hasn’t looked at guys while waiting for her to fall in love with him. Especially at Derek. He would have had to be blind to miss the insane hotness under all that aggression and broodiness. It was there from day one. So was Stiles’s attraction. But that was just being a horny teenager, like looking at models or porn. It had nothing to do with reality. Or feelings.

But now he _knows_ Derek – better than he knows Lydia actually, who is only just starting to become more of a person than a goddess to be kept on a pedestal. Once past his fear of Derek doing him or anyone else actual bodily harm, he managed to glean an unexpected vulnerability. It’s like a superhero suddenly relying on his sidekick. Derek seems to have done a complete one-eighty while he was in that place and suddenly Stiles, who did nothing but exasperate him before, appears to be the center of his world.

There’s no denying that Stiles likes it. This is different from Scott being his best friend or his dad loving him. This has an added dimension to it that none of his other relationships have. It’s exciting and rapidly becoming all-consuming, because he thinks about Derek all the freaking time now. When he’s in school he wonders how he is and when he’s here, he marvels at how focused Derek is on him. It’s gone right past flattering and into _I-want-more_ territory. Derek, when he concentrates on someone, can make that someone feel like he’s the most important person in the entire universe.

It’s like he’s been bestowed a rare gift. The way Stiles sees it, Derek has spend his life since the fire, and especially since Laura died, fighting to stay alive in every sense of the word. There was a real threat to his life in the form of hunters and kanimas and even his own uncle, but there was also the struggle to stay sane in a world that seemed hell-bent on destroying his happiness by killing everyone he ever loved. It’s no wonder he had nothing but contempt and anger for two teenagers who mistrusted and disliked him enough to endanger his life and freedom and shun his advice at every opportunity.

So Derek's trust isn’t easily earned and now that he’s given it, Stiles is determined to never break it, because that, in turn, might just break Derek altogether. And it’s such a beautiful thing, fragile and still just a little seed that Stiles wants to cultivate into glorious fruition. Just so he can be awed by it forever. And with the trust comes affection and that may just be the most precious gift of all.

Over the years Stiles has soaked up every word or glance or even insult that Lydia has thrown his way. And there was even a smile or two that meant the world to him at the time, however incidental it may have been. But it doesn’t even begin to compare to Derek's smile. It’s so rare and unexpected. Stiles didn’t even realize Derek knew how to smile, knew how to make his eyes all soft and warm, how to look at someone and make them feel like they’re part of something huge and fiercely private at the same time.

When they’re in bed together, Derek likes to have his hand or arm on Stiles’s chest, which leads without fail to spooning all night. Stiles just wants to snuggle up to him, wants to turn around and touch him back or kiss him. But he contents himself with stroking Derek's forearm. This is obviously some form of therapy for Derek, so Stiles will give him what he needs. He isn’t even sure what exactly he wants from Derek, just that he wants more of him. What he fears the most is that Derek will one day soon turn around and grumpily thank him for his help before sending him on his merry way. And he knows it’s not fair to try and push the guy into something when he’s so vulnerable. So Stiles just absorbs whatever Derek gives him and hopes for the best. He waits. Isn’t that what he always does, waiting? Making long-term plans that he knows won’t come to anything. Because if he doesn’t retain that little spark of hope, he will have to admit to himself that he’s yet again carrying a candle for someone who isn’t interested. Story of his life.

 

 

 

Derek doesn’t get it, he really doesn’t. For starters, he hates how long it’s taking him to recover. He managed to get through his first full moon better than he feared. The pull of his wolf, the urge to run and hunt, to kill and maim was stronger than ever before. He knew that if he gave in it would end in disaster. So he stayed indoors, pacing the floor. Stiles was there, against Derek’s better judgment, chatting away, which was strangely soothing. By the time they went to bed long after midnight, Derek was wondering if anger had been a shitty anchor all along because the new one seemed to make it all a lot easier.

So, physically he’s back to almost normal. A few more days of exercise should put him back on top form. But mentally he’s damaged in a way that he never felt before. More than ever he misses having an alpha to care for him and, quite frankly, to make the difficult decisions so he doesn’t have to. He feels the weight of responsibility for his betas crushing him. Not only has he run out of ideas for where to look for Erica and Boyd, but he can’t shift the feeling that they simply don’t want to be found. Who’d want to come back to an alpha like him?

Even more confusing is Stiles, who seems to be around pretty much all the time. Derek has started to wait impatiently for him to come waltzing into his loft after school, providing companionship, comfort, and much needed solace at night. He likes the noise Stiles brings to the place and even his quiet questions when they’re alone. It makes him feel like Stiles cares. He must do to some degree otherwise he wouldn’t be looking after Derek. Right? Sometimes Derek worries that the Stiles who became his anchor isn’t real, that he was just a figment of his imagination. Wishful thinking of an idealized person who doesn’t exist in reality because Derek needed it at the time. Maybe it was all a lie. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been deceived about someone. The only difference is that this time he did it himself.

It makes Derek nervous how important Stiles has become. That never ends well for him. He’s trained himself not to expect anything of anyone so that he can’t get disappointed or hurt, not to have any hope that will only be crushed eventually, not to like anyone ever again, never mind anything more than that. And yet when he was in that place, it was the thought of Stiles that kept him going. Even now he relies on Stiles like he never did on anyone else before. He never had an anchor centered on a person. Before the fire it was always his family, the whole pack.

Every night he goes to bed hoping that this will be the last time he needs this. That in the morning he’ll be able to tell Stiles that he’s no longer needed because Derek is perfectly fine on his own, thank you very much. And yet somehow he never finds the words or the opportunity because the thought of letting Stiles go does things to him he doesn’t want to think about. It would be so much easier if he had to ask Stiles to stay and just keeping silent would do the trick. But Stiles hangs back when the others leave as a matter of course now, so every night is supposedly _the last time_ in the end.

In bed Stiles has taken to wearing boxers and one of Derek's t-shirts, which hangs loosely on his smaller frame. Derek puts his arm over it when they start out, but when he wakes up, he invariably finds his hand has slipped under the shirt to feel skin. Stiles doesn't seem to mind and appears to have become more comfortable with him, too, relaxing into him and actually sleeping peacefully now instead of the fitful dozing of the first two or three nights.

On Friday, the start of their second week, Stiles waits for Derek to put his arm around him, then wriggles back until he’s flush against him like he does every night. But instead of slowly calming down, his heartbeat remains erratic until he finally says, “My dad’s coming back on Sunday. I don’t think I’ll be able to get away every night any longer when he’s home. Maybe on the weekend…”

Derek fights down the jolt of panic that he feels. It’s too soon. He’s not ready. But his voice is reassuringly steady and cool when he answers. “You’re free to do what you want. I’m not forcing you.”

He can feel Stiles stiffen and his mood changing from nervous uncertainty to anger in a mere matter of seconds. The teen pushes against his arm but rather than leaving the bed to have a tantrum, he practically throws himself around so that they’re facing each other.

“You’re an asshole, you know that? This is the pool all over again. I do something for you, even save your skin or pelt or whatever and you behave like a complete jerk. Would it kill you to acknowledge what I’m doing?”

Derek's embarrassment over his own weakness turns into belligerence, as it so often does with him. Almost all his emotions translate into anger nowadays. “What _are_ you doing?”

“I don’t know! You’re the one who developed the need for a human security blanket. And I don’t mind, obviously, because I wouldn’t be here if I did. But I do mind you pretending that this is somehow my idea. This is _you_ , Derek. _You_ needed this and that’s fine, by the way, but at least try and be decent about it. I don’t need you to shower me in thank yous, but at least… I don’t know... just don’t be a dick about it. If that’s even in your repertoire, which we all know is extremely limited.”

“If I’m treating you so badly, why are you still here?” Derek snaps.

“You know what? That’s a really good question,” Stiles spits out.

Expecting him to get up now, Derek is so focused on stopping himself from clamping down on him to make him stay, that he’s taken by utter surprise when Stiles does the complete opposite. He moves closer than before and kisses Derek. His arms wrap around Derek's neck and he presses their mouths together, before moving back a fraction and licking Derek's lips with an extremely wet swipe of his tongue. Derek growls sub-vocally, more like a vibration in his throat than a real noise.

It makes Stiles pull back to check Derek's mood, then chuckle. “You just purred, dude. I have to forget all my dog jokes now because you are just a big pussycat under all that scowling and posturing.”

Derek growls for real this time and pounces on Stiles, rolling both of them over so that he’s on top of the teen. Then he smoothes Stiles’s hair back, looks into his eyes, which are shining brightly with excitement, and bends down to kiss him the way it should be done.

Stiles moans into the kiss, grabbing onto Derek and digging his nails into his bare back in a delicious torment. Derek doesn’t stop kissing, just pushes his hands under Stiles’s t-shirt, rucking it up to his armpits before Stiles lets go of him and pulls himself free of it. For Derek the short loss of contact is already too much and he dives into another kiss that is the most frantic he’s ever had, with tongues and spit everywhere.

Eventually Stiles pushes him away a little with his hands cupping his cheeks. “Do you have lube?” he asks with a satisfying tremble in his voice. “Please, tell me you have lube.”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek mocks. “I have lube. My dick’s not made of steel.”

Stiles bucks up a little, his own hard-on rubbing against Derek's through the thin material of their garments. “Are you sure about that? Because you could’ve fooled me.”

Reaching over to switch the lamp on, Derek grabs the lube from the drawer of his bedside table, without letting Stiles move an inch. Then he takes both of Stiles’s wrists in one of his hands and strips him of his boxers with the other. Stiles’s cock springs free and it's so hard it settles at an angle pointing towards his stomach. While Derek peels himself out of his sweatpants with one hand and the help of his feet, Stiles wriggles a little but doesn’t have much room to move.

Derek settles his naked body back on top of Stiles’s, still holding his wrists, now pressed gently into the mattress above his head. Stiles is breathing heavily, his pupils wide enough to leave just the tiniest honey-colored rim around them.

“Are you gonna behave?” Derek asks with a raised eyebrow.

To his surprise, Stiles nods eagerly and somehow solemnly but doesn’t say a word. It’s so out of character that it makes Derek pause. He needs this. He knows he does. After feeling so unsettled for so long, this is the first thing that feels completely right since his return. He knows exactly what he needs to do, but he can’t do it if Stiles doesn’t feel the same way, no matter how much this would mean to him.

“What?” Stiles’s breathing is still uneven, but he’s smirking now, ready to mock and cover his uncertainty and whatever else he’s feeling with sarcasm.

“I want to fuck you so hard,” Derek admits. He can hear how close to the edge he is in his own voice and hopes that Stiles can hear it, too.

“I gathered that. I’m totally on board with the idea. Believe me, I’ve been on board with the idea of fucking far longer than I care to remember. Are you asking for consent? You have it. I absolutely, wholeheartedly, enthusiastically and without any reservation whatsoever give my consent.”

Derek shakes his head to clear his mind of _do it, right now_ and _what are you waiting for?_

“I meant I want to fuck you so _hard_. I want to do things to you you’ve never even thought of.”

“You have a poor perception of the depth and breadth of my, let me assure you, _very_ fertile imagination.” Stiles is still far too upbeat.

Derek growls in frustration. “Pick a safeword.”

Stiles inhales sharply and loses some of his bravado. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _that_ hard.” Derek is confident that he’s finally gotten through. And not before time because if they don’t start this soon, he will have to put as much physical distance between them as he possibly can, as quickly as he can. He inhales and exhales through his nose, trying to gain control the way he was taught - which proves somewhat counterproductive because it also brings Stiles’s smell of arousal. Derek juts out his chin, willing Stiles to make a decision, trying hard not to rush or coerce him.

“Finstock,” Stiles says finally.

“Finstock?” Derek asks stupidly before understanding kicks in. “Your safeword is the name of your lacrosse coach?”

“Yeah, believe me, he’s the last person I want to think about in bed. What’s yours?”

Derek has to chuckle at the absurdity despite himself. “I really don’t need a safeword. You can’t do anything I couldn’t prevent you from doing.”

“Pick one anyway,” Stiles says, looking very earnest.

“Argent.”

Stiles nods. “Makes sense.” Abruptly he pushes up as far as he can with his hands still held above his head and manages to press their lips together, before Derek bends down to attack his mouth properly.

Derek would have thought that Stiles would be loud, just an extension of his normal loudmouth self, but instead he is strangely quiet. There are no smart remarks, no teasing, no encouraging demands. Even his moans are subdued. Instead he’s fiercely focused on touching and looking. It’s as if he can’t believe this is happening and doesn’t want to risk it being over by making a noise.

It’s wondrous how pliable Stiles is. He lets Derek move him any way he wants, reacts to his not gentle, sometimes bruising hands by surging into them and digs his own fingers into Derek’s flesh like he’s just as desperate for this as Derek is. No touch seems too rough, no position too awkward. Derek can feel nothing but arousal and elation from him, amplifying his own feelings. The only time Stiles gets vocal is when he comes, hissing a sincere, “ _Fuck!_ ” Every time.

Eventually they’re just lying on their backs next to each other, covered in a sheen of sweat and large splotches of come, chests heaving and staring at the high ceiling. Derek feels torn between physical contentment and the trepidation that’s setting in. This shouldn’t feel so good. What the hell was he thinking? It’s Stiles, a seventeen year old hyperactive spaz, who has already put him in prison before and now has the perfect leverage… who rescued him from that place and has practically not left his side unless he’s had to ever since… who has started to feel comfortable and calming, like pack and family…

And how did Derek repay him? By fucking him to within an inch of his life. He peers to the side a little and grimaces when he sees a tapestry of bruises all over Stiles’s body, most of them elaborate hickeys. Yeah, he really couldn’t deny what happened tonight if he wanted to. He left plenty of evidence.

Eventually he gets up and moves into the bathroom, feeling Stiles’s eyes burning into him all the way. He leaves the door open so he can sense Stiles’s mood, while he perfunctorily washes the come stains off his body. Then he takes the warm washcloth and goes back to sit on the edge of the bed. Stiles hasn’t moved and just watches silently as Derek cleans him up. Derek daren’t look at him. He doesn’t want to see how destroyed the teen is, who is projecting a fair amount of anxiety now. But before he can get up to take the cloth back to the bathroom, Stiles grabs his wrist, staying his movements and making Derek look into his eyes. Stiles’s eyes are still shining, more warmly now that his pupils are smaller. He really has the most beautiful eyes.

“That was _awesome_ ,” Stiles says emphatically.

Derek can’t help but smirk a little, causing Stiles to grin back at him, a little of his anxiousness dissipating. Then Derek traces some of the bruises with his index finger. “Did I hurt you?”

“No more than I wanted you to.” Stiles tilts his head a little, then widens his eyes comically. “Oh my god, I have a kink for rough sex and being bossed about. Who knew?”

“We seem to be rather compatible that way,” Derek offers, still surprised about Stiles’s behavior, which was all the sweeter for being unexpected. He abandons the washcloth on the bedside table and climbs over Stiles into bed.

Stiles follows him with his body and puts his head on his shoulder, draping one arm over his chest – and Derek freezes. He hasn’t had a relationship since Kate and she always made it very clear that cuddling after sex was not on the cards. He has no idea what to do with his own hands, so he leaves one awkwardly on the sheet behind Stiles’s back and rests the other on his own chest, finding his fingers almost immediately entwined with Stiles’s, right over his heart.

Stiles is yawning now. “Compatible is good,” he murmurs sleepily. “But just so we’re clear: if you ever try to boss me about when we’re not having awesome, compatible sex, I will shoot you before you can say wolfsbane bullet.”

Derek huffs a laugh and suddenly feels pleasantly tired. Sleep won’t be a problem tonight.

  
  


It wasn’t what Stiles expected, not by a long shot. Whenever he thought about having sex before – apart from indulging in fantasies to help him jerk off – he always envisioned dates, movies, dinners, and chaste kisses turning to making-out to touching, all stretched out over several days minimum. With Derek he went from companionable… cuddling to porn-level sex in the blink of an eye – and loved every minute of it.

But it leaves him with no small amount of confusion. For one thing there’s the fact that he likes being submissive, at least he likes being submissive _for Derek_. It’s come as something of a shock to him because outside the bedroom he submits to no one. He also can’t tell if this dominance is Derek's ingrained behavior, perhaps a werewolf or an alpha thing, or if it has to do with having to establish his authority after what happened to him at the lab. It stands to reason that Derek needs to feel in charge after having been robbed of it for so long. It doesn’t quite tally with the cuddling over the last week, but it does make sense to Stiles. And as he discovered he rather likes it, it’s all good.

The other thing that’s confusing him is that he doesn’t really know what’s going on. The morning after the night before, they just carried on where they left off and never really stopped all weekend. They probably fucked on every horizontal and even vertical surface in the loft by now. Absolutely anything sets them off, an accidental touch, any word that can be construed as vaguely sexual, or just a look and Derek pounces on him. It’s lucky that Derek has the ability to take away any pain or discomfort that Stiles might feel. Although Derek touching his ass a lot to do that in turn just leads to more sex, like a not so much vicious but delicious circle. Stiles hasn’t worn more than an oversized t-shirt and boxers since Friday night.

Some part of him wants to contact everyone he’s ever met and brag about it – with the exception of his father, of course. But some other part of him watches Derek askance all weekend and tries to piece together what he’s feeling, which would be so much easier if Stiles knew what he himself is feeling.

He thinks Derek’s insanely hot and can’t quite believe that he would be interested in him. Which means that Derek might just want to get laid and isn’t too fussy about his partner. But then there was the last week, where Derek was focused entirely on Stiles to the exclusion of everyone else. Was that just a seduction technique to butter Stiles up or something more? Now Derek seems to find it hard to look at him unless his eyes are full of lust.

Stiles really thinks he should be happy. He’s wanted to have sex for so long he should be ecstatic. And he’s a guy. He doesn’t need movies and candlelit dinners. That’s for girls. He’s getting laid, what more does he want?

But as he’s sitting with his father in their kitchen on Sunday evening, half-listening to some anecdote he’s telling about the seminar he’s attended, Stiles wants to blurt out what is happening in his life. Unfortunately that would lead to too many questions being asked and possibly even Derek getting arrested again. Stiles just can’t stop thinking about him, sometimes he even _feels_ him still. He escapes upstairs as soon as he can manage it without upsetting his dad.

He can’t sleep, of course, but that isn’t terribly unusual for him at the best of times. What is out of the ordinary is that he doesn’t feel like using his wakefulness for anything useful, like reading, researching or even jerking off. He’s staring at the orange-tinged pattern that the streetlight outside his room has cast over his ceiling ever since he can remember and wishes Derek would come climbing through his window but knows that he won’t. He’s actually only done that a couple of times and never without good reason.

Stiles is eagerly anticipating seeing Derek again after school tomorrow. If he thought he’d get away with it, he’d blow off school completely. Oh, he’s got it bad, as bad as Scott when he met Allison. Only, Stiles doesn’t know if Derek would appreciate it if he knew.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Wildly inappropriate use of safewords.

  
  
  
**WEEK SEVEN**

On Monday morning he walks into class and drops heavily into his seat. It’s going to be a long day. Scott turns up two minutes later, smiling goofily when he sees Stiles and taking the desk next to him.

“Where have you been all weekend, man? You didn’t even answer my texts. Did your dad get back alr...” His eyes open comically wide and his head juts closer, nostrils widening, but he stops just short of taking a good sniff. “You had sex,” he whispers, as if Stiles didn’t know. His smile deepens then dies as he frowns. “With Derek. Dude!”

Stiles grins, suddenly feeling emboldened, despite having wrestled with his feelings for most of the night. Whatever is wrong with his relationship with Derek, at least he has bragging rights for the first time in his life. “Many, many times, my friend, in many different positions,” he confirms.

Scott looks vaguely disgusted.

“What?” Stiles asks. “You gave me all the gory details when you were with Allison.”

“Fair point,” Scott concedes. “I promise to do my best friend duty and listen to you talk endlessly about Derek. I suppose he _is_ good-looking. And you’ve been spending a lot of time together since he came back. I just don’t trust him, you know?”

“Says the guy who dated the daughter of the biggest hunter family there is. I like him, okay? He’s very different when he’s with me and, man, he’s _awesome_ in bed.”

Scott seems somewhat relieved when the teacher interrupts their conversation and Stiles spends the rest of the morning with his mind firmly on matters that aren’t even remotely related to the lessons. It’s not particularly different from any other school day.

Naturally this is one of those days where they’re all having lunch together, which, to be fair, has been happening more often recently. Raiding government research facilities together apparently has that kind of effect on a bunch of teenagers.

Isaac arrives a little late, but focuses on Stiles straight away. “How’s Derek?” He’s been asking for his alpha every day but has stayed away from the loft unless there was something to discuss, as per Derek's wishes. He looks Stiles up and down. “Never mind. I can smell how he is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lydia asks, seeming mildly put out for being out of the loop.

The two werewolves look sheepish, almost apologetic. Stiles can’t make up his mind whether he finds the fact that they can smell what he’s been up to amusing or a little creepy. Derek could have warned him. Lydia is still waiting for an answer and no one denies Lydia Martin her due, so he finally takes the plunge. “Derek and I slept together.” He really wishes he could call it something else or even just make it sound ongoing. But this will make it easier later. It will stop everyone assuming they’re still together when it’s over. He doesn’t want their pity, which is why he tried to sound off-hand, like he sleeps with people all the time.

“Of course, you have,” Lydia says, cutting her cucumber into tiny, perfectly even slices. “Everybody could see _that_ coming a mile off. Took you long enough.”

“You knew?” Scott asks, looking adorably dumbfounded.

She shrugs. “It was obvious with the way Derek looked at him. And Derek really _is_ the hottest guy any of us knows. Stiles would be stupid to say no. Especially since he’s been going on about losing his virginity ad nauseam.”

Stiles doesn’t know how to feel about her statement. He’s kind of proud to no longer be a card-carrying member of the V-squad and she did compliment him on how hot the guy is who made that happen. But was he really such a pathetic loser that he obsessed publicly about being a virgin? Does everyone know? He rolls his shoulder uncomfortably and looks around the room, but except for his friends no one is paying any attention to him. When he looks back at Lydia, she gives him a brief but genuine smile.

“So how does it feel?”

He grins, feeling more grown-up than he ever did before. It seems such a huge milestone, bigger than saving the town from things that go bump in the night on a semi-regular basis. “Decidedly _un_ virginal.”

“You realize I have to tell my dad about this, right?” Allison says.

“Why on earth would your dad have to know who I sleep with?” Stiles asks heatedly. The idea that any of the parents might find out about this is making him distinctly nervous. It’s unlikely they’ll approve and his dad will think he lied to him. “Why is it any of his business?”

“Everything to do with Derek is Dad’s business. Especially since you’re underage and he’s God knows how old.”

“He’s twenty-three. That’s not particularly old. And what gives your dad the right to know things about Derek that have nothing to do with what he is?”

Allison shrugs. “He has a bad track record with teenagers.”

Isaac pointedly turns to glare daggers at her.

“He’s not gonna turn me!” Stiles exclaims a little too loudly and they all look around to check if anyone’s close enough to listen.

“It’s not gonna do any harm if Mr Argent knows, does it?” Scott intervenes gently. His adoring smile at Allison makes it obvious that he’s trying to score points with her. Doesn’t he always?

“Are you crazy?” Stiles hisses at him, feeling a little betrayed by his thoughtlessness. “What if he tells my dad?”

“You should never have relationships you can’t tell people about,” Allison says primly. “If you can’t, then that should tell you there’s something wrong with it.”

Stiles snorts derisively. “You mean like you and Scott?”

She has the decency to look a little sheepish at that, as does Scott.

“Not to mention,” Lydia says without looking up from her plate, where she is now dissecting a carrot, “that you’re giving your dad leverage over his enemy with something that has nothing to do with the issue between them and you would hurt one of your friends in the process. And you'd never even consider telling if it wasn’t Derek because it’s none of your dad’s business. You just don't like him.” Her pleasant tone is wildly at odds with the scathing contents of her remark.

Stiles gets up while Allison’s still staring at her best friend. “I’ve overlooked a lot of things you did recently, but if you tell your dad about this, you and I are no longer friends.” He grabs the bag of chips and the soda from his tray and walks out of the cafeteria, wondering how effective a threat that actually was. He and Allison have always got on well, but it was about Scott first and foremost, for both of them. She probably doesn’t care.

After some meandering around the school, he ends up on the green out front, lying on his back and trying for the umpteenth time today to talk himself out of just leaving school and going to Derek's loft. He opens his eyes when someone flops down on the grass next to him, somewhat relieved that it’s Scott.

“Allison says she won’t say anything,” he says in an awed tone as if that concession makes her Mother Theresa.

“Good, because she has no right to blab about my business.”

“It’s not about you. It’s about Derek. You know that, right?”

“No, it _is_ about me, Scott. It’s about _my_ life and _my_ relationship. I don’t tell any of you who you should or shouldn't be dating and I wish you’d all just show me the same courtesy. It’s nobody’s business but mine and Derek's.”

“Okay. I see your point. So you wanna talk about it?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No. There’s nothing to say really. It happened. It was awesome.” He wants to add, _and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing_ , but the bell stops him and as they’re walking to their next class together he’s kind of glad about that.

  


For all the excitement he’s felt all day whenever he thought of Derek – which was practically all the time – he simply stays in his car after he’s parked it outside Derek’s building after school. The Camaro is parked next to the jeep, so Derek’s probably home, but Stiles feels kind of paralyzed now.

He has no idea where he stands. Was the weekend a one-off? People do that all the time, right? It’s normal. He should brag about it for a bit and then move on. Derek probably does this a lot. He must do with the way he looks and the way he put the moves on Stiles like a pro. Stiles isn’t sorry. Even if it was just for the weekend, he isn’t sorry. He had awesome sex, tons of it, it was great, so all that’s left is to go up to the loft and find out how they go from here. And if that leads to more sex, that’s going to be fun, right? And if it turns out they’re not really going anywhere, that’s fine, too.

Still, he simply can’t move.

He’s hankered after Lydia for years and always thought that if he could have just one night with her or one kiss or even just one date where she paid attention to him, he would be content for the rest of his life. Now he knows what utter bullshit that is. Having had this weekend with Derek makes it harder, not easier. _Better to burn out?_ Give him _fade away_ anytime. Now that he’s experienced being with Derek, it’ll be twice as hard to go back to how it was before, if that’s even possible. He can but try when the time comes.

He startles and flails in a generally defensive manner when someone opens the door of the jeep without warning. Derek looks at him questioningly, then around the parking lot and back at Stiles, taking in his whole body.

“Jeez, Derek,” Stiles complains. “You scared the freaking life out of me.”

“You’re not injured.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Why are you sitting in your car, outside my door? Is anything wrong?” Derek looks around the perimeter again, then back at Stiles, worry plain on his face.

Stiles takes a deep breath, calming himself after the fright he’s just had. “I’m fine.” He slides out of his seat and locks the jeep. “Did you come down to check up on me? _Awww_ , that’s so sweet.”

“I heard you drive up. When you didn’t come in, I thought...” Derek doesn’t finish but Stiles knows that in Derek’s life anything out of the ordinary usually spells trouble.

“I'm fine,” he says again, more comfortingly, wishing he could just put his arms around Derek to reassure him. But none of the copious touching they did at the weekend entitles him to _that_ kind of touch. He trails after Derek into the elevator, leaning against the wall less than two feet away from him and _aching_ with a sudden fierce longing. Everything in him hurts to reach out and lay his hands on Derek, any part of him, with no other objective than to be close, to feel and be felt.

They enter the loft together, Derek locking the door and setting the alarm, while Stiles slowly ambles over to the big window. He avoids looking at the bed, which despite being freshly made is still a reminder. But then so is any other part of the loft. Derek has followed him and is crowding him against the window now, a little roughly, kissing his neck without preamble and insinuating his hands under his shirt. So they’re doing this again. That’s good. At least Stiles‘s dick thinks it’s good and this is what Stiles was hoping for, right? He wanted it to continue and yet... It’s hard to think when Derek is so close and already has one hand on the button of Stiles’s jeans.

“Finstock.”

Derek freezes. “What was that?”

“Finstock.”

“You want me to stop?” Derek tilts his head a little so he can give Stiles’s boner a significant look. He’s smirking incredulously, but he is also not making any further advances.

Stiles can’t say the words. He can’t tell Derek to stop because that’s not really what he wants, not exactly. But he also knows that he can’t do _this_ either. He wants everything, to touch and feel, to be closer, but at the same time he needs so much more than that. And without it, this is worse than nothing at all. How do you say _I want this but only if you mean it_? Luckily he doesn’t have to say anything because Derek slowly straightens and moves away, just a step and then another until he’s suddenly too far away. “Wait.”

“For what?” Derek’s voice is cold.

“I don’t... I want... can you come back here?”

“It doesn’t work that way, Stiles. You said the word.”

Stiles looks at him, but Derek is studiously looking out of the window, his face expressionless. Of course, he’s not feeling anything but annoyance. For him this is just therapy, a way to get back to normal after what he’s been through, whereas Stiles feels like he’s being torn apart with contradictory emotions. He wants to throw himself into Derek’s arms and yet he knows it won’t do any good.

“I'm sorry,” he says, because Derek didn’t do anything wrong. He asked for what he wanted and Stiles couldn’t have been more enthusiastic in his response. It’s not Derek's fault that Stiles turned so pathetically emotional on him after only two days. That’s another unexpected revelation Stiles has about himself, right up there with _I wanna be Derek Hale’s bitch, preferably forever_.

“No need,” Derek grits out.

Boy, does he sound pissed that his booty call isn’t happening. Maybe Stiles should just forget about the doubt he feels. At least he would get some awesome sex out of it, right? He’s a teenager, shouldn’t that be all that he wants anyway? Can’t he be normal at _some_ thing? Anything at all? He should talk to Scott. Even if Scott doesn’t like Derek, he understands what it’s like to fall in love with someone beyond all reason.

He wants to say something cool, something that will allow them to move on from here and go back to having some sort of normal relationship – _after_ he’s avoided Derek for a few weeks at least. But nothing springs to mind. That must be a first. Stiles being stuck for words. Another trait he didn’t realize he possessed, being tongue-tied around people he’s in love with. That certainly never happened with Lydia.

He turns and walks towards the door, slowly, because he knows that once he’s beyond it, whatever he and Derek had for the last few days will be gone and never be retrieved. He won’t even see Derek for a while. He won’t be able to bear it. And after a period of avoidance it will be awkward and nothing like it was last week. What an amazing week that was, one to be treasured.

“Stiles.”

Stiles stops but doesn’t turn around, praying that Derek won’t say anything to make this hurt even more. He’s bound to, though, because nothing he could say will be enough. Even the kindest letdown will hurt like hell and who’s he kidding, this is Derek after all, so it won’t be that. He knows more than a little about rejection. He just never thought that someone offering to have sex with him could _be_ rejection.

When Derek doesn’t say anything else, Stiles takes another few steps. Damn, why does the loft have to be so fucking big? The door is miles away and much too close at the same time.

“Stiles.”

Was that a little softer, or was that just his imagination? He turns around to find Derek looking at anything but him. “You know what this is like?” Stiles says almost conversationally, while frantically searching for something to say internally. If he can find the right words... “It’s like when I was on the lacrosse field. I couldn’t believe that I was even allowed on. I mean, who in their right mind would let me actually play in an actual game? And then I was surprisingly good at it, no matter how stupid I may have looked doing it. Who knew that my first sex would be just like my first lacrosse game? I should be happy with the result and it was great. The sex even more than the game. But then came the aftermath. And we all know what happened to me after the lacrosse game, don’t we?”

Derek's head comes up sharply and he looks like he wants to say something, but then he just looks back down, shaking his head a little.

Stiles has the strange urge to go over there and comfort him despite feeling like he’s just splayed himself open and showed Derek everything inside of him. Why did he do that? Why can he never keep his big mouth shut? He wants to crawl into a hole and hide. Even for him, who spends so much of his time saying and doing embarrassing things, this is on a whole new level. He turns again and almost makes it to the door, when he hears Derek again.

“Argent.”

  
  


It comes out so hastily it’s almost unrecognizable. It’s the first time Derek thinks he understands what safewords are really about, apart from the obvious. It’s when you can’t say what you mean, but you want to make absolutely sure you’re being heard. And he’s so, so grateful that Stiles insisted on giving him that.

“What did you say?” Stiles’s eyes are so warm and so concerned it’s almost painful.

“You heard me.” Derek wants to make this work, but he has no idea how. All he knows is that if Stiles walks out that door, this will be over and he can’t bear the thought.

“That I did.” Stiles moves back into the room a little. “But I don’t get it. I'm on my way out, so if you give me a few more seconds, I won’t be doing anything to you any longer. What is it that you want me to stop doing?”

“Don’t...” Derek waves his hand towards a vague point over Stiles’s shoulder where the door is. He doesn’t want him to leave, but he has no real right to ask him not to. On the other hand, he can’t leave things as they stand. Stiles is obviously very hurt and very disappointed. There’s probably not a lot Derek can do about that other than apologize.

“Don’t bang the door on my way out? Don’t go out there because there’s a bunch of creepy creatures waiting in the parking lot? Don’t... leave? Use your words, Derek.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Derek says angrily. He hates when people treat him like a child just because he likes to think before he speaks. “I'm not Gerard, I would never hurt you. If you feel that I hurt you at the weekend, I apologize. That’s why I wanted you to have a safeword.” And why the fuck didn’t Stiles use it? “I know I can never make that right again and if you want to tell your dad, I won’t try and deny it. I just want you to know that I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I didn’t want your first time to be on par with getting beaten up by someone.” He lowers his eyes again because he aches at the thought of having hurt Stiles. He never thought he would do something like that. Not after his own first time turned into a nightmare afterwards. “I didn’t even know it _was_ your first time. I'm sorry.”

“Are you crazy? You didn’t hurt me. Not then. Do you think I don’t know that if you wanted to hurt me, you could have? And do you really think I wouldn’t stop you if you did something I didn’t like? I never doubted that you’d stop if I said the word. Not for one second. That wasn’t what I meant when I said it’s just like after the lacrosse match. I meant this right here.” His hand makes a vague wavy gesture between the two of them.

They look at each other without a word for what feels like an eternity. Eventually it is Stiles who looks down this time. “The sex was great. And I thought it was what I wanted. And I do. So, so much. But I want everything else as well. I want to date someone. I want to hold hands and go to the movies and do stuff other than sex. I want to have sex, too, lots of it but I want the other stuff as well. I want a relationship with someone. Just sex isn’t enough for me. I'm sorry if I led you on.”

Derek feels sick with how familiar this feels. He had the exact same thoughts when he was Stiles’s age, a little younger even. And who could blame Stiles that he wants a normal relationship with a normal person. “Is it Lydia still?”

“What?” Stiles looks up in surprise.

“This person you want a relationship with.”

“Are you being deliberately obtuse?”

“So it _is_ Lydia still.” It has to be. Who else is there? Then again, does Derek really know him that well? It could be anyone. What he does know is that Lydia Martin doesn’t know how lucky she is.

“No, you idiot, it’s _not_ Lydia. Get your head out of your ass. It’s _you_. Haven’t you been listening or are you playing dumb just so you can see me humiliate myself some more? Is this fun for you? I knew you were getting your kicks somewhere. Nobody can be that dour all the time.”

“Me.” Derek says without any inflection because he’s sure he’s misunderstanding this whole conversation.

Stiles glares at him, angry now rather than upset like he was a moment ago. “I just want something normal in my life. A normal relationship. But that’s obviously too much to ask. This is _my_ life after all.”

“And what do you think I’m offering here? Being fuck buddies? I thought...” Derek takes a long breath but it sounds more like a deep sigh. “I had sex with you because you drive me crazy. In every possible way. I want you. All of you. I just thought... I thought maybe you were being nice because I was in that place for so long and you were trying to help me back on my feet.” It certainly felt like Stiles was just taking care of him, like he’s done before, when Derek had been shot with wolfsbane or in the pool. Just that this involved more time and... other things.

Stiles looks exasperated and waves his arms about in an aimless flail. “I don’t believe this! You thought I let you fuck me into oblivion because I was being _nice_? Have you _met_ me?”

He’s got a point there. While his natural instinct seems to be to take care of the people around him, Stiles is no pushover. He would never do something against his own wishes. If he puts other people’s needs before his own, it’s because he wants to.

Derek takes a step closer, a little hope blossoming inside him. Telling himself to be careful, he nevertheless feels his heartbeat accelerating. Good thing Stiles isn’t a werewolf. “Okay. Cards on the table.”

Stiles huffs a mirthless laugh. “You first, buddy. If you’re in _I-just-wanna-get-laid-and-you’re-convenient_ territory, I wanna know. And if you’re in _I'm-dating-you-until-something-better-comes-along_ land, then tell me. Because I'm very much in _I'm-in-over-my-head_ country.”

Derek chuckles. “I love how you can spin an idea on and on. Okay, let’s see... you’re certainly not convenient. In fact, you’re very _in_ convenient, but you _are_ the better that came along.”

Stiles’s eyes are wide with astonishment. “Wow, Derek, that was practically poetry.”

Derek shrugs. He has no problem with romantic gestures or words when he means them. Words are cheap. Kate taught him that. You can take them back or pretend you didn’t mean them or simply lie. He doesn’t trust words, so that makes it easy to bandy them about or just stay silent most of the time. It’s the trust that’s the hard part. But somehow this weird teenager has managed to prise that part from him without much effort. How did he get from _trust no one because everyone’s an enemy_ to _Stiles will never harm me_? It was the trust that allowed him to let his guard down and look at Stiles with new eyes and see what was there all along.

Stiles is smiling now, approaching way too slowly for Derek's taste, but he lets him set the pace. He forces himself not to touch when Stiles is close enough to feel his body heat radiating off him. Stiles looks at him, slowly losing his smile in favor of a solemn gaze, before he lifts his hand and traces Derek's features with the fingertips of his right hand. They brush over his eyebrows, his cheekbones and down to run along his jaw.

“You’re really beautiful,” Stiles murmurs almost to himself.

Derek bites down his response. He knows what he looks like to other people even though all he ever sees in the mirror is a broken man, if he manages to look himself in the eye at all. But this is not the time for either arrogance or humility. This is about how Stiles sees him and more importantly how he feels about him. It makes Derek feel beautiful for the first time since his mother assured him that he still was.

This is very different from anything he’s ever experienced. He and Paige never progressed very far before everything went so disastrously wrong. And his relationship with Kate was somewhat cold and rough on her side – and no wonder with her agenda – but after Paige that seemed fitting to him, like it was all he deserved. And afterwards it was all he could bear. He hasn’t been with a woman since. It’s not as if Kate turned him gay. He’s always been bisexual, but after the fire, he just wanted pure sex, wanted to be rough and in charge, with no strings attached and men are more suitable and more willing to do that on a casual basis.

But what he wants from Stiles is far from casual. The wild weekend of sex they’ve just had was not the same as hooking up with some guy whose name he barely remembers afterwards. He _knows_ Stiles, all his little foibles and idiosyncrasies that make him so endearing. He was forceful with him because he feels very much on edge right now. He needs to be in control, but from the first kiss he already knew that he wanted to hang on to this, hang on to Stiles. And Stiles seemed to relish in Derek’s particular brand of taking him... until he didn’t and used his safeword. Derek balls his hands into fists so he won’t make a grab for the body that is so temptingly close and bend it over the big table.

“Come here,” Stiles says, bunching Derek's tank top in his hand and pulling him towards the bed by it.

Derek allows himself to be pushed down to sit on the bed and raises his arms willingly when Stiles pulls his top over his head. He also doesn’t need more than a gentle push against his shoulder to lie back and shimmy up to the headboard while Stiles pulls the rest of his clothes off as he does so. It’s amazing how quickly they’ve become comfortable with taking their clothes off, their own and each others’, in just three short days.

Then Derek becomes aware that he’s naked on the bed while Stiles is still clothed and smiling down at him. Derek is not shy by any stretch of the imagination. He comes from a family of werewolves, so personal space and all things physical are very different from most human families. It’s one of the things he misses the most, the casual touching, even being in various states of undress without it meaning anything other than familiarity.

But in a sexual context everything always ties in with Kate. He remembers that she got him completely naked, while she remained clothed, and then she would smile down at him. It always made him uncomfortable despite his arousal. Even then he knew something wasn’t right but he blamed it on their age difference and having to sneak around. He should have been able to tell from her smile that she was mocking him.

Stiles is smiling, too, smirking even, but it’s worlds apart from Kate. There’s a warmth radiating from him that isn’t physical. His eyes move slowly over Derek's body before he suddenly starts pulling off his own clothes in a rush. As stripteases go, this one is rather hilarious, with Stiles getting his head stuck in his t-shirt for a bit and then hopping on one foot to get his socks off afterwards. Derek chortles but that doesn’t lessen his desire in any way. It just makes him aware that he never laughed with anyone during sex before and that he likes it. He likes Stiles.

When Stiles climbs on the bed and sits naked on Derek's stomach, he realizes that _like_ is an entirely inadequate way to describe what he’s feeling right now. He’s in love with Stiles and has either forgotten what that feels like or this time his feelings go much deeper than ever before. He’s never felt like this with anyone.

Stiles looks at him earnestly. “Tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable.”

“I think I can withstand 140 pounds sitting on me,” Derek says offhandedly.

Stiles shakes his head. “Not what I meant. I want you to know that this is not a deal breaker. If you don’t like it, we’re not doing it. Then we do something else. But this once, I'm in charge and you must tell me if you don’t like it. That’s what your safeword is for, okay?”

“Stiles,” Derek says patiently. “You’ve been in charge all along. That’s what _your_ safeword is for.”

Stiles gives him a soft smile. “And I’d like to point out that it’s 147 pounds. I'm not _that_ puny.” He bends down and kisses him. He’s actually a great kisser, a little sloppy with lots of tongue just the way Derek likes it. Then Stiles moves on to his chest kissing and licking, sometimes sucking in places but never too hard – and agonizingly slow.

It’s okay. Derek knows he can stop this at any moment, with or without a safeword. He watches Stiles lick along his collar bone while never losing eye contact, then move along his ribs, one by one, making him shudder. Somehow Derek can’t close his eyes and enjoy this. It’s Stiles’s gaze that gets to him, the way his eyes shine.

Derek can feel his heart speed up and it’s more than just arousal... it’s fear. He realizes with sudden clarity that in all his time in the white room, he wasn’t afraid, not once. There was resignation and acceptance but no fear. But this... this right here fills him with pure dread. He can barely breathe. If he allows this, they will move from what they are now to something very different. If he lets Stiles do this, Derek will never be able to turn back to what he was. He will no longer be solitary, no longer be responsible for his own happiness – or unhappiness, as the case has been for years now. He will hand all that he is over to Stiles and will have to trust him not to cut him right open and leave him to bleed out. And it starts right here, with soft and slow touches as opposed to frantic rutting. This can never be mistaken for – or dismissed as – just sex.

“Fuck.”

Stiles chortles. “That’s the idea.”

Derek huffs out a laugh in return. Stiles makes him smile. He did even when Derek was at his lowest and miles and miles away. It’s been a while since someone made him smile. And what is more, Stiles _wants_ to make him smile. He also wants to kiss him. And have sex with him. And apparently wants to do all the things couples do. Derek hasn’t had time for anything like that for far too long. Neither has he met anyone to want to do that with for years. Will he really let this skinny teenager inside his bitterly acquired defenses?

He can still turn this around. He can flip Stiles on his back and take charge. Stiles will probably let him, has practically given him permission to do so when he said it wouldn’t be a deal breaker. Then Derek could stop feeling so out of his depth. They can carry on as they did at the weekend and when it all blows up in Derek's face, he’ll be able to save face. He knows from experience that everything is easier to bear if you never let it show how affected you are.

Stiles kisses up his sternum, then stops, sitting up slowly and smiling tentatively at him. There’s some unease creeping in now and obvious worry. “You still with me?”

The fact that Stiles can sense when Derek is losing himself in his own thoughts and doubts is strangely reassuring considering that being inscrutable is Derek's best protection. The people who know you best can always hurt you the deepest. But Stiles is also stopping something he’s clearly keen to continue to focus on Derek. It makes it impossible to doubt how sincere he is. In the long run, fear is something you need to overcome if you want to live a life worth living.

Derek gently pulls Stiles down until their foreheads touch and takes a leap of faith, “All the way.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for leaving feedback. It is much appreciated.


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